All That Glitters
by mangoaddict
Summary: What if Snape survived the final battle, but his innocence was not discovered? Epilogue: He sighed, and said slowly, “I would prefer to hear that… that Voldemort… does not have control over anything anymore, not even a single person’s life.”
1. Prologue: Of Life and Death

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.

Author's note: I was a little disappointed by how quickly Harry accepted that Snape was good. I thought that since he had spent seven years hating Snape, he might actually have to struggle a bit with this revelation, but he didn't at all. So I decided to write a "What if?" scenario.

As always, please read and review.

Summary: What if Snape survived the final battle but his innocence was never discovered?

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost _

Prologue: Of Life and Death

All he felt was pain.

There was blood everywhere, spreading out from him in deep pools, turning the floor a dark crimson red. The Dark Lord was turning away from him, the great snake slithering on the floor her master's side, and the world was fading in and out of existence as his vision blackened at the edges.

The pain was almost unbearable. He had been tortured many times in the past, brought to the brink of death and languidly pulled back into the living, all for the amusement and enjoyment of the twisted man who called himself Lord Voldemort. But this pain… this was something more than that. It was the pain that came along with the realization that there was no one to pull him back to life this time, no one to bear witness to his final moments, no one to listen and understand why he had done what he had done.

And then the Dark Lord and the snake where gone, and he was alone.

The irony of this situation was not lost on him. He had been directed by Dumbledore to kill the Headmaster, all in the hopes of keeping him alive and in the Dark Lord's graces long enough to help Harry Potter during the final battle. And yet it was that very act that now brought about his own downfall as the Dark Lord attempted to wrest true ownership of the Elder Wand from him.

He heard it. So soft, so sudden. Footsteps. His life was almost gone, there was nothing there now but blood and dust and soon his body would be an empty shell. He turned his head slowly, and found himself looking up into those same green eyes that he had once fallen in love with, now on the face of the boy he had once so greatly loathed.

Harry Potter had come to visit him as he died. He would have laughed, had he enough energy to do so.

For a moment, the two looked at each other, and then Potter said in a low voice, "I wanted it to be me who killed you." There was something in his tone, a mixture of confusion and disgust and anger that Snape recognized so well. It was the feeling of not knowing what to do now, of hating every decision you've made but knowing if you had it all to do over you'd still make the exact same mistakes, still walk the exact same path, still end at the exact same place.

Potter turned and left, and the room was silent once more.

His shallow breathing echoed off the walls, and he closed his eyes, feeling the last of everything slip away. He wondered what the afterworld was like. He wondered if there was an afterworld.

* * *

She hurried into the room.

She had seen both You Know Who and Potter emerge from the base of the Whomping Willow, and she couldn't help but wonder what had happened there. The former did not seem to know of the latter's presence, and that alone gave her relief. It meant the Boy Who Lived was safe for now, safe enough to save them all.

But she had been curious, and she had entered the base of the tree after the other two had left and she had rushed to the Shrieking Shack, and she had found…

"Severus!"

She rushed to his side, kneeling down to find him near death. Pulling out her wand, she began the countless spells that might stem the flow of blood, might give him strength, might buy him time, might save his life. All pretenses dropped now as she focused everything on him, on the one man she knew had always been on their side.

Silently, she cursed Dumbledore for everything he had done, everything he had made his spy do. Silently, she prayed for a miracle.

* * *

He watched, hidden deep within the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, as the Dark Lord called Longbottom forward and praised his bravery. Watched as Longbottom threw the praise back in the other wizard's face, refusing to join his ranks.

He touched the two marks on his neck, reminders of how close he had come to death. Had she not come when she did, he would be dead now, his body decaying on the floor for someone to find, weeks or months or years later.

He was weak. His body was not completely healed, but he still had a task to complete. It was not over until the Dark Lord was dead, and he had given so much to keep Lily Potter's son alive, he would not fail now.

He was not a fool, he knew the Potter boy to be alive. How, he was not yet sure, but he had watched from the trees as Narcissa Malfoy had realized that Potter's heart still beat steadily within his chest, watched as they exchanged quiet communications, watched as the blonde woman had lied to her Lord.

So perhaps Narcissa had some bravery left in her after all.

He was pulled from his musings by the Dark Lord's silky, dangerous voice.

"Very well. If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan." The Dark Lord paused, as though almost regretful that he would be forced to lose such a promising young wizard. With a sigh, he added, "On your head, be it."

He waved his wand at the school, and something flew through the air, a dark shape, twisted and turned about in odd directions. It took a moment for the shape to become clear, and then the Sorting Hat itself appeared in the Dark Lord's outstretched hand.

The Dark Lord contemplated the Sorting Hat for a moment, staring at it with a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?" He waved his wand lazily at Longbottom, and the boy stiffened like a wooden doll.

From his hiding place in the shadows, he could see the boy's face. He was still staring up at the Dark Lord with fury and distaste, and the hidden man thought wryly to himself that perhaps this boy had more bravery than he had given him credit for.

Just like Narcissa.

People really did surprise him, sometimes.

"Neville here is going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me." The Dark Lord walked forward and placed the Sorting Hat on Neville's head and then…

The flash of light, the burst of screams, the pandemonium that broke out. The shouts, the cries, the screams of fear and rage and terror.

He took his wand and crept forward in the shadows, pointing it directly at Longbottom. There was only one way for this to work, one chance to save the boy and the world all at once. If he could free Longbottom from the Body Bind curse…

The snake had to die. He knew this now, knew it stronger and surer and firmer than anything else he had ever known.

Silently, he thought the spell and waved his wand and watched in grim satisfaction as Longbottom sprung free from the Hat, pulled the long, ruby-encrusted sword from the remains of tattered cloth, and sliced the head off the giant snake.

Nagini fell.

And in the midst of all this, he let his gaze wander and found himself staring across the lawn, through the mass of churning bodies, and into the bright green eyes of Harry Potter.

* * *

Harry sprung to his feet as the snake fell, seizing his Invisibility Cloak, prepared to fling it over his shoulders. His sudden resurrection went unnoticed by those around him and he was able to safely scramble away from the fight. He felt relief and pride for Neville well up within him as he saw Nagini's body fall with a heavy thud. The relief was followed soon by fear as he saw Voldemort howl in fury and turn snake-like eyes towards the boy.

He was about to cover himself with the Cloak when his eyes caught a movement across from him, and through the trees he saw it, clear and unmistakable.

Severus Snape.

Alive.

The two held each other's gaze for a moment, their face's wearing matching expressions of surprise and disgust. Then Snape melted back into the trees and Harry through the Cloak over his shoulders, spun around, and lifted his wand in time to raise a shield between Neville and Voldemort. He threw himself back into the fray, never forgetting what he had seen.

* * *

Author's note: So then the final chapters of DH happen, but nobody ever learns that Snape was good. The rest of the story will take place a few years in the future. 


	2. The Price of Protection

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.

Author's note: I know a lot of things at the end of DH relied on Harry seeing Snape's memories (such as his realization that he had to die). He still learns all that in my story, only in a different way. It will be revealed, through flashbacks, as the story progresses. For now, all that really matters is that Voldemort is dead and gone, and Snape is still alive, but not yet proven to be innocent.

Summary: Narcissa pleads with Snape, Harry and Ron get a surprise visit from Neville, and Hermione receives a cryptic message.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter One: The Price of Protection

_Three years later…_

"I don't understand why you can't just show them your memories," the woman huffed impatiently as she gestured for the house elf to clear the last plate from the table. She gave a scrutinizing glance to the man sitting before her. He was too thin, his skin too sallow, his eyes too haunted. Three years after the war, and he was still unable to return to the country he had once called home, to the people he had given so much to protect.

Severus Snape barely even listened to his companion's frustrated words. She had argued this point many times over the past three years, and he could not really blame her for her misunderstanding of the situation. But did she have to be so trying? Didn't she realize that if it was as simple as walking into the Ministry and showing a few memories, he would have done it already?

Honestly, how daft did she think he was?

"I'm surprised, Narcissa, that you would even suggest I do something like that. Aren't you afraid I might sully the name of Death Eaters by admitting to being a spy?" he replied sarcastically, watching as the bright red flush suffused his guest's face.

"Severus! I am grateful for everything you did to keep Draco from becoming lost in the Dark Lord's grasp and I merely wish to repay the debt," Narcissa protested. She hesitated, then added, "Lucius feels the same."

Snape stood, stretching his tall frame and stepping away the blonde woman. "I believe, Narcissa, that you have provided more than enough for me. You have given me use of this house, which is…"

"Disgusting," Narcissa spat. "It is a hovel, Severus. How can you even live in it?"

"It in Unplottable and protected from detection by numerous spells," Snape replied smoothly, giving Narcissa a sharp glare. "Not to mention, I have no doubt that my Secret Keeper will not betray me. I am content here."

"And you won't tell me who your Secret Keeper is?" Narcissa asked, and her voice was almost a pout. "Neither will you tell me who rescued you from the Nagini's attack that night?"

"They are one and the same, madam, but you tire me with your constant pleas. My lips are sealed," Snape replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. His mouth seemed barely to move as he spoke, and his words were no more than a soft whisper.

"But why won't you show your memories? Why won't you prove your innocence?" Narcissa demanded. She stood as well, unwilling to allow Snape the height advantage.

Her stunning features seemed to grow even more beautiful with age, and Snape thought idly that she and Lucius made a handsome couple. She was as fair as Bellatrix had been dark, but both sisters, for all their differences, had shared an unearthly attractiveness that he had seen in few others.

He thought, abruptly, of Lily Potter, and turned away.

"My life is my own to do with as I please," Snape said at last, his words biting and curt. He hoped it would end the conversation, but the same spirit in Narcissa that had forced her to his home in the dead of night and in direct contradiction to the Dark Lord's orders when she believed her son to be in mortal danger reared its head now, and refused to back down.

"Why won't you even show them to me?"

"Do you need to see them?" Snape asked, his silky voice now positively glacial. "Do you not believe me either? Some spots do not wash off, Narcissa, but you are just as black as I am."

"I-I believe you," the blonde woman replied, lowering her head. "I always have, from the end of the Great Battle, when you first told me that you were really on Dumbledore's side. I believe you."

"I fear the rest of the world may not be as trusting," Snape mocked, shaking his head as he looked at her again. He felt a surge of guilt for taking his anger out on her, but then quickly pushed away the feeling. It was a weakness, feeling guilt, and it annoyed him that he felt it so often these days.

"They would if you…"

"Assuming they did not just accuse me of tampering with my memories," Snape retorted icily. He did not hold the rest of the wizarding world in particularly high esteem, and doubted anyone would truly believe him. Trust was a precious commodity, one he had forsaken completely the night had had killed the only man who ever trusted him.

"But they would show signs of being changed," Narcissa protested. "Your memories would be clean, clear."

"Enough," Snape spat. "Do you not think, Narcissa, that if it were as simple as you say, I would have been able to secure my own innocence by now? That if redemption and forgiveness were so easily handed out, I would never have been placed in this position anyway?" Anger was a more useful emotion than guilt; it could be turned into a weapon. Narcissa was cowering now, shrinking before his rage, her eyes filled with confusion and fear. In the moment, his fury let him forget his pain, and that was a relief. It was easy, he mused, to lose oneself in the darkness of anger.

"I… I don't… understand," Narcissa stammered.

"Clearly," Snape answered.

"Then explain it," Narcissa begged, taking a step towards him. She reached out, as though to take his hand in her own, as though to catch his arm as he moved away from her, but then she froze. Her hand remained in midair, hovering, before she let it drop to her side. "Please."

"There is nothing to explain," he said, and Narcissa looked crestfallen at his declaration.

He looked around the room of this house… this place Narcissa had so aptly called a hovel. The table they had eaten at sat at one end of the room that served as a dining room, parlor, and study. The carpet under his feet was worn threadbare in places. Across the room was a fireplace with a slowly dying fire. Two chairs clumped together in front of the fire. Apart from both the fireplace and the table was a desk, situated next to the only window in the room, that let in the faint glow of light from the sliver of moon.

There were only three others rooms in the house: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen that doubled as a potion laboratory. It was not as extensive as his quarters had been at Hogwarts and it lacked the comforts even of Spinner's End. But it was safe and well protected, and far enough away from England that he would never accidentally run into any of his previous acquaintances.

The only comfort here was the house elf that Narcissa insisted accompany her whenever she visited him. He was sure it was as much for her sake as it was for his, bringing along someone to help with the chores.

For a time, he enjoyed her visit, but they often grew wearisome as the months turned into years and she refused to leave alone the topic of his return to England.

Predictably, she did not give up the subject. "Severus, please… Tell me."

"Tell you, Narcissa? And what would you like me to say?" Snape replied, his tone inflected just enough to convey boredom with the subject. "That I do not relish the idea of returning to England anyway?" He gave a derisive snort. "There is nothing there for me now." The only two people he would have ever done anything for were both dead, both killed because of him. He tried his best, but in the end he was unable to save either Lily Evans or the Headmaster. What was left now but echoes of memories and regrets?

"Draco misses you," Narcissa said. "So does Lucius. They would both like to visit you more, but…" She shrugged apologetically. "We are still under some suspicion." She waved a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "Society has a long memory."

Snape gave a bitter laugh. "Only for what they wish to remember," he replied dryly.

"I would help you, if…"

"_Narcissa_," Snape said, and his voice was a warning.

But she looked at him with desperate eyes, wanting to understand, and he felt himself slowly unbending to her desire.

Narcissa was his friend, and one of the few he would ever trust. There was something about her, something he could not quite identify, but it drew him to her. Like he had been drawn to Lily. He did not love this pale witch, not the way he had loved Lily. But the connection was still there.

He walked over to one of the chairs next to the fire and sank into it. How could he explain it? There was no rational reason for his refusal to return to the wizarding England. But it was not as simple as showing a few memories. No, the Wizangamot would demand more than just that. And not just a truth potion either, because those could be countered with antidotes. Not Legilmens, because he was too good a Occlumens to be trusted. No, the rest of the world would settle for nothing short of a trip through all of his memories so that they could pick and choose what exactly to believe. Only then would they declare him a hero or a traitor or, more likely, just another soon-to-be forgotten solider in the war.

He had nothing left. They had taken everything from him. James Potter and Sirius Black. Lucius Malfoy. The Dark Lord. Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter. And Lily Evans, always Lily Evans. Each of them had taken something, whether by force or by promises, and there was nothing left that was his.

Except this. His mind, his memories. And he would not let the them take that as well.

If he was nothing else, he was still a proud man. Too proud to give his secrets up for the desire and curiosity of everyone else. Too proud to submit himself to their prodding as they leisurely wandered through the recesses of his mind.

Three years ago, he had shown up at the Malfoy Manor on an evening shortly after the Great Battle, an evening when Lucius and Draco were away. He had been weak and bloody and on the brink of death. But instead of begging for her help, as she had expected he would do, his pride kept his words in check, and he demanded her aid instead. It was only fair, he had told her, that she return the favor of safety that he had bestowed on Draco.

He did not need to remind her of that, she would have helped him regardless. He was, after all, one of their true friends.

In the brief moments that he had stayed in the Manor before being sent to this far-away cottage, she had ascertained that his current state was due to the fact that he had never received proper treatment for the venom inflicted by Nagini's fangs. He had only allowed himself enough of a reprieve so that he would not immediately die, but as they knew from past experience, the snake's venom prevented the wounds from fully healing until an antidote could be applied.

And Snape could not very well walk into St. Mungo's and demand medical attention. So she had done the best she could to cure him, and when he had been able to function on his own, he brewed the rest of the healing potions himself.

All that pain and suffering, from the Golden Gryffindors, from the Dark Lord, from the wizarding world… all that he had endured because it was the price of protection.

Narcissa did not understand who or what he was trying to protect. None of them did, but the flash of red hair and green eyes constantly haunted him, a reminder of all he had failed to do for _her_ and everything he had sworn he would never let happen again.

Finally, Snape said in a softer voice, "Besides, Naricssa, there is nothing left for me in England. Nothing to which I would wish to return."

* * *

Harry Potter stared at the book in front of him and groaned. He had tried so hard to read it, but now his eyes were watering the words were swimming on the page, turning into a jumbled, incoherent mess. It was late and he was tired, but the exams were only two days away and he could hardly justify skipping out on the revision. 

"This is ridiculous," Ron Weasly said, speaking up from the armchair where he sat, another book on his lap. "You can't learn defense from a book!"

Harry smirked and said warningly, "Careful, Ron. Better not let your fiancée hear you say that…"

Ron started and looked around, as though half-expecting Hermione to emerge from the woodwork and lecture him on the value of reading. Then he sighed and shot Harry an annoyed look.

"Prat," he snapped, his temper worn short from the pressure of the exams. "She's not here to hear me."

And she wasn't. Hermione, who had long since realized that the last thing she wanted was to do any more fighting, had opted to study Magical Law Enforcement. And so the Golden Trio had finally been broken up, with the two boys completing their training through the programs in the Ministry and Hermione studying law and the legal system at the prestigious and incredibly exclusive University of Magical Education at Edinburgh.

Ron and Harry bunked together in a flat in London, and both Ginny and Hermione visited on weekends. It was a comfortable existence, reminiscent of Harry's first four years at Hogwarts, before his world had been overshadowed by Voldemort, prophecies, and death.

"We can learn the theory of defense," Harry said pointedly, but his words reminded him of Umbridge and her ridiculous ideas, and he felt suddenly sick. When he was an Auror, the first thing he was going to do was petition for a change in the training programs.

"You are tracking a Dark Wizard who has taken an innocent hostage. He threatens to kill her if you do not surrender your wand. Explain how you would proceed in one hundred words or less?" Ron read. He made a face and turned to Harry. "Why are the evil ones always men and the innocents always women?"

Harry shrugged and commented dryly, "Anyone who can answer that question in less than one hundred words should not be an Auror anyway. It's a stupid book. Each situation varies from the next. You have to…" He trailed off as the book suddenly snapped itself shut, the pages closing down on his hand. "Ow!"

Ron roared with laughter as Harry's book continued to attack him, the pages opened and closing as he jumped to his feet and scrambled away from the seat.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it!" Harry called to the book, which was now propelling itself across the floor, chasing him from one side of the room to the other. "You aren't a stupid book! Really, you're not!"

At these apologetic and slightly frantic words, the book stopped, seemed to consider Harry for a moment, and then flopped itself back open to the page Harry had been looking at only moments before. It rested on the floor, looking rather innocent, as though it had not just tried to devour the young wizard's hand.

"I cannot believe I'm resorting to apologizing to books," Harry muttered under his breath, but when the book snapped threateningly at him, he lapsed into silence. Ron, still finding the entire situation hilarious, struggled to contain his laughter only once he caught sight of the frustrated expression on his best friend's face.

"Ah, cheer up, mate," Ron offered. "It's less vicious than that book Hagrid assigned us. Remember? The Monster Book of Monsters?"

Harry laughed, but as usual, any mention of Hogwarts eventually lead his mind back to the one loose end, the one blot on the pleasant picture of his life.

Snape.

He remembered it all so clearly, seeing Snape standing on the other side of the battlefield, staring at him with expressionless eyes. The man had disappeared almost as soon as he and Harry exchanged looks, and he had not been seen since. But Dumbledore's murderer was out there somewhere, and the entire wizarding world had sworn not to rest until he was brought to justice.

"They'll find him," Ron said staunchly, cutting into Harry's thoughts.

Harry nodded dumbly, not believing Ron's words. It had been three years, and Snape had avoided all attempts to capture him. Who knew what other tricks the Half-Blood Prince had up his sleeve? He would most likely forever evade efforts to bring him to justice.

Harry placed his book on the side-table by his chair and walked over to the window. It was dark out, the sky dotted with tiny white stars, the full moon casting its own pale glow. He did not need to close his eyes to see that final scene, the way the burst of energy from his wand had collided with that of Voldemort's and rebounded into the space between him. He could still hear it, the rushing wind that pounded his ears as Voldemort—Tom Riddle, The Dark Lord, You Know Who—finally fell, crumpling to nothing on the floor of the Great Hall.

Sometimes, late at night, when he lay awake in bed, he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to the world if it had been him to fall that night.

A flash of green caught his attention, and he turned back to the fireplace in time to see Neville Longbottom stick his head through the flames, a bright smile filling up his entire face.

"I got it!"

"Blimey, Neville, give a guy a warning before you do that!" Ron berated, having started so badly he'd knocked his book to the floor. The book, clearly not liking the way it had been treated, was snarling at Ron, but Ron just said sternly, "Hey, knock it off or I'm chucking you into the flames!"

The book stopped snarling immediately and even managed to look somewhat contrite… for a book.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Harry asked himself quietly as he turned to face Neville completely. It would have been easier to threaten his own book as opposed to trying to apologize to it.

"Got what?" Ron asked, now giving Neville his full attention.

"Top marks in my advanced medicinal Herbology exam," Neville replied, rolling his eyes as though they all should already know that. "Well, I don't actually know that for certain because I don't get the grades until the summer, but Professor Flute said I'd done better than any student she'd had in years." He was grinning from cheek to cheek, his face split so wide it looked as though his smile had been painted on. "Now all I need is two more years of study and I can apply for mastership. Then I might even be able to teach at Hogwarts!"

"You want to go _back_?" Ron demanded. "Didn't you get enough already?"

"Professor McGonagall… Headmistress, I mean… I'm not used to calling her that… wants me to come back and teach," Neville confided. As soon as the war was over, he'd applied to a program at St. Mungo's that allowed him to take courses in Herbology and research different medicinal properties of various magical plants. Even though he was a war hero, and the Ministry kept urging him to find a 'proper' career that would land him in the spotlight more often, he couldn't give up his love for plants. It was all he had ever wanted to do since his very first step into the greenhouses at Hogwarts.

"Congratulations, Neville, that's wonderful," Harry said, pleased. "We'll have to throw a celebration just as soon as Ron and I are done with our exams."

"When do you finish?" Neville asked, glancing down at Ron's book, which still sat peacefully on the floor.

"We've got two more theoretical exams in Stealth and Tracking and Protection of Civilians and a practical in Disguises. Four more days and then it's over."

"Can you believe it? Who'd have thought we'd end up here?" Neville said with a smile.

Harry shook his head and answered, only half-jokingly, "Three years ago I wasn't even sure I'd be alive in the future."

Neville frowned, but didn't comment. Instead, he said, "Well, I've got to go and you should get back to your revision. Say hello to Ginny and Hermione next time you see them and we'll plan a party after the exams." And he pulled his head out of the fire, disappearing from view.

Ron stood and stretched his tired muscles, then rubbed his eyes. "When is Ginny getting back?" he asked curiously. His sister had taken a holiday and traveled to Romania to visit Charlie and his girlfriend. The career she had opted to pursue-that of a Healer-did not allow her much time to see her family. It had been a surprise to all of them when she had announced her plans, but, as she had explained, she'd spent so much of her sixth year at Hogwarts mastering healing spells to help those who had been injured through the Carrows' versions of "punishment" that she now couldn't really imagine herself doing anything else.

Despite it's rigor, or perhaps because of it, she'd already taken her end of the year exams the previous week. The day they were finished, she'd packed her belongings and disappeared to Romania.

"Not for another four days," Harry grumbled. He was used to seeing her a bit more frequently than that, and the long separation was more difficult than he would care to admit. He simply had to remind himself that he'd spent all of his seventh year far away from her without any idea of how she was doing, and at least this trip of hers was only ten days.

She lived in a little flat near St. Mungo's with Luna. Luna was now working with her father on the Quibbler, researching various sightings of strange creatures and propagating even stranger rumors. Her father and Harry, although not on the best of terms, had come to an understanding after the war. For Luna's sake, he tolerated the man who had tried to turn him over to the Death Eaters. He did understand, at least a little bit, the desperation that Mr. Lovegood had been feeling when his only daughter was taken from him and held as a hostage.

"Merlin, I wish the exams were over already," Ron grumbled in a perfect imitation of Harry's previous comment about Ginny's absence. Harry glared at him, but Ron just laughed.

"Come on," Harry said at last. "We've got more revision to do."

* * *

"Why… you're Hermione Granger!" 

Hermione looked up in surprise, eyes widening as they always did when she was recognized by some witch or wizard. She had been sitting at the pleasant little coffee shop, a book open on the table before her, a mug of steaming liquid near her hand. She liked the quaintness of wizarding Edinburgh, but occasionally it was just too small for her. It was easy to be recognized her, and she did prefer the anonymity she now only found when she entered the Muggle world.

A witch and a wizard were approaching her. The witch had been the one to recognize her, and by proclaiming Hermione's name to the entire coffee shop, she had succeeded in drawing the attention of all of the patrons. Everyone was now watching her with interest.

Inwardly, she groaned. Celebrity was not something she was well equipped to handle.

"Well, this is an honor," the witch said, stepping forward. She was little, shorter than Hermione, with cropped white hair and a wrinkled face. Her eyes, oval-shaped black orbs, sparkled as she reached out a hand and caught Hermione by the wrist. Shaking the younger witch's hand with a vigor unusual for someone her age, she continued, "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to meet you, Ms. Granger."

"Th-thank you," Hermione stuttered, forcing herself to smile. "I…uh…" She wasn't really sure how to respond, but she was saved having to do anything by the wizard who accompanied the witch.

"Mother, I think perhaps we are interrupting Ms. Granger," the wizard said. He gave Hermione an embarrassed smile, but his smile was tinged with a sense of awe and respect. He must have been at least ten years older than Hermione, but he was staring at her with the utmost reverence.

Hermione wondered just what they would have said and done had it been Harry sitting her instead of her.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs.…?" Hermione hesitated, waiting for the witch to provide her name.

"Gillyberg," the woman said. "Marta Gillyberg." She patted her son on the hand and said to him, "William, darling, didn't you _want_ to meet Ms. Granger?"

William flushed and bowed his head. "Of course, Mother, but I think…" He cast another look at Hermione, this time apologetic. "She appears to be reading, you know."

"Oh…" Marta Gillyberg seemed to deflate a little at that. "Merlin, my dear, am I interrupting you? I did not mean to be rude." She sounded so forlorn that Hermione found herself rushing to reassure the other woman before she could even contemplate what she was saying.

"That's alright, Mrs. Gillyberg. I don't mind the interruption." She cringed almost as soon as she said the words, wanting to take them back. But several other occupants of the coffee shop took this as an invitation to approach her, and she was soon swamped with people wanting nothing more than to shake her hand and tell her how proud they were to have someone like her in their community. They jostled around her, knocking into the table, bumping against her chair.

"My husband," Mrs. Gillyberg was saying, her voice rising above the commotion, "fought in the first war, you know. Cost him his life, in the end. Little William here was just a babe, doesn't even remember his father. It was just dreadful when You Know Who came back. My parents are Muggles, you see, and I thought they'd cart me off too, and then William would have no one left. But Will was resourceful and managed to hide me away when those nasty Death Eaters came calling."

"That was very brave of you," Hermione said softly, giving William a tentative smile.

William raised an eyebrow and replied bluntly, "She's my mum. What else would I have done?"

This comment brought an outpouring from the crowd of witches and wizards who began insisting that they knew of all sorts of horrible stories in which children had turned on their parents, and wasn't William a fine example of a wizard?

By the time the crowd had finally dispersed and Hermione was alone again, she was so befuddled and exhausted by the incident that she no longer wanted to read her book. She took a final sip of coffee and reached into her pocket to withdrawn her small beaded purse. As she did so, her fingers brushed against something smooth and crinkly, and she pulled out a piece of folded parchment.

Surprised, she laid it on the table, wondering where it had come from. She reached into her purse and withdrew a few Knuts. Leaving them on the table as payment, she stood and walked towards the street, the paper now clutched in her hand.

Outside, she unfolded it and read the words. It was short, and written in a flowery script.

_Sometimes bats and dragons hide together. The answer is never further than you think._

She stared at the paper and then, not knowing what else to do, she turned on the spot and Apparated to Harry and Ron's flat.


	3. Fire and Brimstone

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.

Author's note: I've had a few people ask about this, and although usually I don't like giving things away, I am going to say now that this story is most definitely _not_ SS/HG. I don't have anything against the pairing, I just prefer to stay with canon in my own Harry Potter stories.

Summary: Hermione brings news to Harry and Ron, Runcorn makes a threat, and Snape remembers.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost _

Chapter Two: Fire and Brimstone

_He was laughing, and the sound that tore from his throat was manic and wild. The great gray thing at the end of the tunnel turned towards him, watching with crazed eyes. It's head lolled to one side, the tongue hanging loosely from the gaping jaws. Rows of yellow teeth emerged from red and pink gums._

"_Snape, get out of here!"_

_Potter grabbed him by the arms and pulled him backwards, and they both stumbled on the dirt floor. The thing was getting closer, drawing near until he thought he could actually feel it's fetid breath on his face._

"_No! Moony, no!" Potter was gone abruptly, and there was a stag standing there, in between him and the monster. The air was filled with dust and dirt and he couldn't see anything but the growling thing that loomed closer and closer with every passing moment._

Snape opened his eyes with a theatrical jerk. The blankets and sheets were strewn haphazardly across the floor and tangled about his limbs. He carefully extracted himself, fury and anger rising within him as he stood.

Even from beyond the grave, Black and Potter still managed to haunt him, mocking him with cruel reminders of his schoolboy years.

* * *

Harry held the fragment of parchment in one hand and stared at it, his eyes running over the words. Hermione sat curled up in the armchair, watching him with wary eyes. Ron was pacing, a nervous habit he had picked up to blow off excess energy during their years studying to be Aurors. Nobody spoke, but the tension in the room was heavy and thick. 

Finally, Harry spoke. "The dragon and the bat?"

"I know what you are thinking, Harry, and I wondered it too," Hermione said softly. "But the Malfoys all swore under truth potion that they did not know where Snape was."

"Can a truth poison be tricked?" Harry asked, although it was a rhetorical question. They all knew of antidotes that could be administered preemptively, and it was even rumored that the same techniques employed during the use of Occlumency or while fighting Imperio could be used to fight the effects of a truth potion.

"Snape is a potions Master," Ron added with a snarl. "He'd easily be able to brew a potion for them."

Hermione pursed her lips and frowned, then said thoughtfully, "The Malfoys were only asked this question during their trial, weren't they?" Harry and Ron both looked at her, and she shrugged. "Then it's possible that they weren't lying. Maybe they really didn't know where Snape was."

"But it's been three years since the trial," Harry said, realization dawning. "Snape may have contacted them afterwards…" He crumpled the parchment in his hand, anger coursing through his veins. "Why did we ever trust them?" he spat, exploding with rage. "_Why_?"

"Because we believed they deserved a second chance, mate," Ron answered, his voice unnaturally solemn and soft. All thoughts of studying for the exams were gone now, replaced by this new problem. He paused in his pacing and turned to Hermione. "I always said poisonous toadstools don't change their spots."

Hermione nodded reluctantly. She had always wanted to believe the best of the Slytherins, always wanted to seek out whatever good qualities they might have. But Snape's betrayal had taught her that not everyone will come for redemption, and she couldn't help but wonder now is Ron wasn't completely right.

"Second chances," Harry snort. "Fat lot of help they were to Dumbledore."

"So what now?" Ron asked. "How do we find him?" He hesitated, then asked, "You aren't possibly thinking of handing that parchment over to the Aurors, are you?"

An elite group of Aurors, known as the Magi, had been tasked with tracking down the last of the escaped Death Eaters. Severus Snape's name had been on their list for three years, and all leads on his whereabouts were supposed to be reported to them. But so far the Magi had been unsuccessful, and Harry thought them practically incompetent.

"Of course not," Harry snapped disdainfully. "I say we talk to Malfoy ourselves."

"And what?" Hermione cut in, ever the voice of reason. "Beat the answer out of him?" Harry didn't seem to disapprove of this idea, and she gave a little sigh of annoyance before bringing up a different concern. "I think we need to wonder also about why this note was given to me."

"Someone else wants Snape caught also," Harry answered as thought it was obvious. He glanced beyond Hermione at the far window. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon. How long had they been talking about this? Was it really almost morning?

"Then why didn't they go to the Magi directly?" Hermione pressed. "If they know that Snape is in contact with the Malfoys, why didn't they just report it?"

"Maybe they're afraid of the consequences," Ron suggested. "If Snape found out, he'd kill them… or worse."

"They could have left an anonymous tip," Hermione countered. She faltered slightly as both Ron and Harry glared at her, but refused to back down. "Just think about it, Harry," she begged, almost desperately. "Why didn't they come to us directly? Why did the note have to be so cryptic? Why the cloak and dagger routine? It just doesn't make sense!"

"Who cares?" Harry retorted.

"What if this isn't real, Harry? What if it is just a ploy to get the Malfoys in trouble?" Hermione asked. One look at Harry's face, and she knew that he didn't understand. As far as he was concerned, whoever left this note was to be trusted implicitly and the Malfoys were, by consequence, still traitors and turncoats.

Predictably, Harry replied, "What if it isn't? Who says the Malfoys can be trusted?"

"Narcissa Malfoy saved your life," Hermione shot back.

Harry gave a dismissive wave. "Only because she was worried about her son. She didn't care about the rest of the world, just Draco."

Hermione turned pleading eyes towards her fiancé, praying that he would understand. "I just don't think it is safe to run off on some crazy scheme just because of an anonymous note."

Ron glanced between Hermione and Harry, torn. He wanted Snape brought to justice just as much as his best mate did. He'd never trusted the potions Master, not even when Hermione repeated again and again that they should because Dumbledore did. But Hermione did have a point. They'd lost friends during the war, and he wasn't willing to risk losing another. They needed to find Snape, but they needed to proceed with caution as well.

"Ron?" Harry prompted.

Ron shook his head. "I… I don't know, mate."

"So what now?" Harry asked in exasperation. "What are we supposed to do? Just let him get away with it? He _murdered_ Dumbledore, he betrayed all of us and you want to do _nothing_?" His voice was rising with each word he spoke until he was almost shouting with pent up frustration.

"Dad said that people at the Ministry are still watching the Malfoys," Ron said suddenly, inspiration coming to mind. "I think Kingsley is one of them. We could ask him if any of the Malfoys have been acting suspiciously."

Harry considered this carefully. He knew that Kingsley could be trusted, and they would at least be able to do something productive. He glanced at Hermione, who appeared pleased with the idea, and finally gave his own consent.

"Fine. We talk to Kingsley."

"Uh… what about our exams?" Ron questioned.

Harry looked at him disbelievingly. "What about them?" he demanded. "This is _Snape_." He stormed out of the room and into his own bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a brief look, then Hermione stood as well. "I should probably go also…" she said apologetically, feeling a little guilty to leave Ron alone with an irate Harry. "It's almost morning."

Ron just shrugged. He didn't even bother attempting to convince Hermione to spend the rest of the night with him, he was too caught up in everything they had just discovered and everything it would mean for their future. Harry's behavior, although not surprising, was hardly comforting. The search for the Horcruxes had taught Harry the importance of thinking before acting, of curbing his reckless tendencies and controlling his temper, but Snape still managed to bring out the worst in his friend.

"I'll come back tomorrow during the day," Hermione offered hesitantly. "We can… get coffee or… have tea?"

Ron managed an actual smile for her. "I'd like that," he agreed, and Hermione Disapparated and was gone.

* * *

"It was a very foolish idea to see Severus," Lucius murmured under his breath to Narcissa as he moved past her through the arching entry way and into the garden. The hot afternoon sun beat down on them, casting shadows across the grounds. 

Narcissa followed her husband onto the patio and glanced around. The garden was always her favorite part of the house. It was filled with mostly white and pale pink or blue flowers that cascaded over the sloped ground like rushing water. Occasionally, the pale colors were punctuated by sudden bursts of crimson red and dark green, reminders of Christmas, or of drops of blood on grass.

"I wanted to see him," Narcissa hissed back venomously.

Their conversation was interrupted by the other guests who spilled out into the garden behind them. Narcissa had agreed to entertain several of Lucius' associates from the Ministry with a garden party. She was less than pleased with having to play hostess to people they would never have associated with before the war, but times had changed, and they needed to ingratiate themselves with the Mudbloods and Muggle lovers currently in power.

"Mrs. Malfoy, this is quite lovely," came the cool voice of Minerva McGonagall. The current Headmistress of Hogwarts gave a polite and civil smile, but her eyes lacked any warmth or sincerity. She would not have been here had it been at all possible for her to stay away, but the Malfoy's wealth allowed them to retain their influence at the school, and it would not have been prudent to snub them by turning down the invitation.

Of course, the Malfoys were just as displeased with her presence as she was. Neither of them wanted her here.

"Thank you, Headmistress," Narcissa replied calmly, flashing an icy smile. Behind Professor McGonagall, her eyes connected with another guest, and she gave a slight start of surprise. Covering quickly, she said, "Excuse me," and slipped past the other woman.

Narcissa paused in front of the new guest and stared at him, eyes narrowed. Taking him by the hand, she lead him back into the house, away from the curious gaze of the other guests. She knew his appearance would be talked about in her absence, and they would all want to know why he was here. But right now, she just wanted to get rid of him.

"Well, well, well… Narcissa Malfoy," the man drawled in a low tone. "I see you and your husband have gone down in the world, entertaining people like these."

"Mr. Runcorn, I don't believe I saw your name on the guest list," Narcissa said sweetly, refusing to take his bait. She paused just inside the door, away from the garden. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a few sets of eyes turned her way. Obviously, her association with Runcorn would spread like wildfire through the Ministry tomorrow, and it would confirm what everyone suspected about her and her husband; that they were still blood purists and Death Eaters at heart.

Let them talk, she decided savagely. Let the rumors fly. No one would ever be able to prove anything.

"You really think you can convince the world that you've had a change of heart?" Runcorn hissed. "You may present an acceptable face to the rest of society, but I know what you and your husband are like underneath it all."

"Do you now?" Narcissa asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"You work very hard to ingratiate yourselves with Mudbloods and Blood Traitors, don't you?" Runcorn sneered. "Have you no self-respect?"

Narcissa answered haughtily, "And you, Runcorn? What did you use to buy your way out of Azkaban? I've no doubt you must have begged the Mudbloods as well."

Runcorn flushed a dark crimson and barred his teeth at her. "You disgust me," he snarled. "You destroyed us. You betrayed the Dark Lord. He could have given you everything, and instead you sold him out. You lied…"

"Do you expect me to declare my undying regret for that?" Narcissa asked mockingly.

"Watch your back, Narcissa," Runcorn snapped.

"Is that a threat?" Narcissa asked, unafraid.

"Consider it a warning," Runcorn answered menacingly. "You've got a lot of enemies out there, and I'd hate for anything to happen to that pretty little neck of yours."

"How very vulgar," Narcissa drawled. "Sometimes your unoriginality still manages to surprise me." She paused, then added, "Although most of the time it just bores me."

"Brave words, Narcissa" Runcorn said softly, his voice no less vicious despite its decrease in volume. "But don't forget you have enemies."

"You do not scare me," Narcissa said hotly, her face now flushed with the tiniest tint of pink. Her eyes flashed dangerously, her calm demeanor still fighting for control over her temper.

"Don't I?" Runcorn murmured. "I wonder if I scare young Draco, hmm?" Before Narcissa could answer, he turned and walked away.

Narcissa watched him go for a moment, her heart beating frantically in her chest. She closed her eyes momentarily, drawing a deep breath. The remaining few still loyal to the Dark Lord, at least those who had escaped Azkaban, viewed her as the vilest of traitors. It had not taken them long to realize that when she had leaned over Harry Potter in that dimly lit forest and checked to see if he was alive, her answer to the Dark Lord had been a lie.

She heard the footsteps behind her, but did not turn around. A hand fell on her shoulder, and her husband's voice said in a low whisper, "We have enemies all around, Narcissa. We must worry about ourselves first, not Severus. He can take care of himself."

Narcissa spun around and glared at Lucius. "Maybe you can so easily give up on the man who kept our son alive," she retorted in a growl, "but I cannot." She tried to walk past him, but Lucius caught her arm, stopping her.

"This is not a good time to take these risks," he snapped heatedly.

"There is never a good time," Narcissa answered quietly. "But I am not afraid of Runcorn, and I am not afraid of this Ministry." She turned and ducked back under the arch, stepping out to join their guests.

Malfoy watched her go, an odd expression on his face. At Hogwarts, Narcissa had never been a passionate girl. She was quiet and calm and icy, her untouchable façade heightened by her cool beauty. When they had married, no one had mentioned the word love. She could play the perfect wife and he could act the gentlemanly husband, but there was never any doubt in either of their minds that the marriage was more of a business arrangement than anything else. They had the same principles, the same desires, and the same goals.

She had married him for his money and his social standing; he had married her for the trophy wife she would undoubtedly become.

Nothing was supposed to get in the way of their ambition. Nothing was supposed to stop them from climbing the rungs of the societal ladder. _Nothing_.

And then Draco was born.

It had changed them both, having a child. It had brought them together and driven them apart, and in the end, neither was the same person they had been before his birth. Sometimes he no longer recognized his wife. He could stare into those light eyes, he could hear the recognizable voice, feel the familiar feather-light touch of her fingers resting on his arm, and yet somehow he was still looking at a stranger.

He walked outside to join the others. Narcissa was speaking quietly with an Auror he recognized as Dawlish. She looked at him, and he held her gaze for a beat, then looked away.

* * *

_Severus Snape fingered the collar of his black robes and glanced around the circular office. The portraits of the Headmasters were all sleeping, save for the sapphire-eyed Albus Dumbledore who seemed perpetually awake. He was watching Snape with a twinkle in his eyes, but the rest of his expression was serious._

"_It's the Greeting Feast, Severus," the portrait said. "Try not to look so nervous."_

_Snape glared at the painting and replied in a harsh voice, "Why not? I'm attending my own funeral today."_

"_Perhaps you exaggerate a little?" Dumbledore suggested with a half-smile. But Snape did not smile in return. Dumbledore sighed and said sternly, "You must remain in Voldemort's good graces."_

_Snape shuddered slightly at the name of the Dark Lord, but nodded. "I know," he said grimly and with a touch of annoyance. He had been reminded of this on several occasions, but it was much easier said than done. Did the Headmaster really think that he wasn't putting any effort into this farce?_

"_The school is counting on you. The students, the world… they need you," Dumbledore continued, pressing the point. "I am counting on you, too."_

_Snape snorted. "Of course," he drawled. "Have you ever let me forget that?"_

_Before the portrait could answer, there was a knock on the door to the office. Snape turned, dreading who and what he would find. Swallowing his fears and forcing a mask of cool indifference to appear on his face, he watched as the door swung open._

_It was Hagrid. The Keeper of the Keys heavy bulk completely blocked the door as he stared with pure loathing at Snape. His voice was loud, practically bellowing with fury, as he said, "The students have arrived. Professor McGonagall is waitin' the Sorting for you, _Headmaster_." He filled the title with as much anger and disgust as possible._

"_I will be down in a moment," Snape directed in a smooth voice. Inwardly, he marveled at Hagrid's anger. Although the half-giant had certainly always had a size-advantage over the other professors, he had never been anyone to be afraid of. All bark and no bite. Now Snape found himself instinctively tightening his fingers around his wand._

_Just in case._

"_Yes, _sir_."_

_As Hagrid left the room, Snape looked back at the portraits. They would kill him on sight, he thought. Only the possibility of Voldemort's wrath kept the other professors from hexing him._

_Why was he doing this, he wondered. Why risk everything over and over for a world that would never see him as anything other than a traitor? He walked to the door, anger simmering below the surface. Today was the beginning of a charade he would play until the end of the battle. And why? For what?_

"_Severus," Dumbledore said gently, calling his attention. Snape turned back to him, and for a moment the two sets of eyes, one blue and one black, met each other._

"_What?" Snape asked at last, bitterness creeping into his tone. "Last words of advice before I walk to my own hanging?"_

_But Dumbledore, as though he could read Snape's mind, see right through his anger to the questions that lingered underneath, said simply, "For Lily."_

_Always only for Lily. _

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it was impolite to stare?"

Snape started at the unwelcome voice and stared coldly at the mirror. He had been staring a this own reflection, lost in his thoughts, and he did not appreciate the mirror's callous timing.

"Of all the things Lucius and Narcissa had to put in this house…" he muttered under his breath, turning away, "…a talking mirror. _Why_?"

"Perhaps if you got to know me…" the mirror suggested in a wounded voice, "you might like me better."

Snape didn't even deign to respond.

"You know, I can be good company," the mirror continued, ignoring Snape's scowls. "Give you someone to talk to, someone who will listen to you."

Snape spun around with an incredulous look on his face. "I don't believe I will waste time speaking with an inanimate object, thank you," he said coldly.

"I am very animate, _thank you_," the mirror shot back, "and it is certainly better to talk to me than to wander about talking to yourself instead!"

Snape opened his mouth to reply that he didn't talk to himself, and then the absurdity of the entire situation dawned on him and he glowered in silence. Turning on his heal, he walked away, his long dark cloak billowing out after him.

The mirror, determined to have the last word, called out, "Anyway, if you spent more time in front of the mirror it might do you some good. You might actually start paying attention to that hair of yours."

In a rare display of incredibly well controlled wandless magic, Snape flicked his wrist at the mirror, causing it to shatter down the center. He left the room, slamming the door shut behind him with an echoing bang.

"Hmph," the mirror said haughtily. "_Someone_ has a temper."


	4. Three Little Words

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: Harry interrogates Kingsley, Hermione and Ron attempt a normal date, Arthur comes to a decision, and Headmistress McGonagall takes a stand.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Three: Three Little Words

"Harry," Kingsley greeted, standing quickly and reaching out to shake Harry's hand. "How are you?"

"Fine, Kingsley," Harry answered politely, striding into the office and glancing around. The Auror's office had a homey feel to it. The wall directly to his right was covered in shelves filled with books, trinkets, and pictures of Kingsley's family and friends, who were waving excitedly at Harry. In front of him was a desk, and in front of the desk was a large, comfortable-looking armchair.

Harry took this all in curiously. He had never imagined Kingsley to be the homey type. In all his years of knowing the other man, he had never heard Kingsley speak of his family or of his life outside the work he completed for the Order.

"I was surprised when you said you wanted to talk to me," Kingsley said, gesturing for Harry to take a seat. Once the two were sitting, Kingsley added, "You said it was important…?"

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper Hermione had given him. He flattened it out and handed it to Kingsley. "Someone slipped this into Hermione's pocket the other day. She didn't see who it was."

Kingsley read the words through once, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Bat?" he asked, raising his eyes to Harry.

Harry blushed slightly and said, "It's what we all used to call Snape. The greasy bat…" He trailed off and shrugged, his face hardening as he nodded to the note again. "And the dragon."

"Draco," Kingsley confirmed. "I see where you are going with this. But the Malfoys have already been cleared on this particular matter, Harry. They don't know where Snape is."

"So they say," Harry retorted. "What makes you think we can trust them?" When Kingsley didn't answer right away, he pressed, "Ron said you were part of the people who are keeping their eyes on the Malfoys. Have you seen anything… suspicious?"

Kingsley fingered the note in his hand, picking his words carefully. "Nothing that would have lead to their arrest. Which isn't to say that they aren't up to something. But are you sure that this note is legitimate, Harry? Accusing someone of harboring Severus Snape is not a light charge, and I won't go into without weighing the consequences."

"What consequences?" Harry asked, frustrated. "We'd catch Snape!"

"If it is real…" Kingsley corrected. "If this is just an attempt to discredit the Malfoys, we may very well destroy them."

"So?"

"Harry," Kingsley said in a disapproving tone, "Whatever your opinion of the Malfoys, you cannot condemn them without evidence. And as far as I am concerned, a not-yet-legitimized note is hardly proof of any wrongdoing."

"How can you be so quick to forgive them for their past crimes?" Harry demanded hotly.

"Draco Malfoy did not commit any crimes," Kingsley answered calmly, ignoring the anger in Harry's eyes. His own deep voice was slow and measured, and he watched Harry with a calculating gaze. The Boy Who Lived was a wild card, and unfortunately he could already see the beginnings of some reckless plan forming in Harry's mind.

"He tried to kill Professor Dumbledore," Harry shot back, incredulous at Kinglsey defense of the other man. "And what about Lucius and Narcissa?"

"What about them?" Kingsley countered. "The note mentions only the dragon… Draco." A far away look came into his eyes, and for a moment he was silent, thinking. "As for Albus Dumbledore… by your own testimony, Malfoy was unable to kill him."

"I cannot believe this," Harry hissed. "Are you really going to do nothing?"

"I didn't say that," Kingsley replied. "I will certainly pass this information to the rest of the committee. And we will discretely search for evidence. I simply do not think that it is a good idea to bring any of this to public attention until we know exactly what we are dealing with." He leveled a look at Harry, instructing him with a simple stare that he would also be required to maintain his silence on the matter.

Harry huffed, outraged.

Kingsley added thoughtfully, "We do not want any news of this to reach the Malfoys. After all, if they are guilty, and they find out that we are investigating claims against them, they will cover their tracks more carefully."

Harry accepted this argument reluctantly. He was eager for justice, but he did not want to rush into something and therefore lose his chances of catching Snape. He knew that many of the remaining members of the Order did not believe that Snape would ever be found; he was too good and keeping himself concealed. If this was his one and only chance to catch the traitor, he would not ruin it with carelessness or haste.

It didn't make waiting any less frustrating.

"We will look into this claim," Kingsley said, his attention now focused on the note again. "Although I would be greatly interested to know where this information came from."

"Hermione was in Edinburgh when she received the note," Harry answered. "She didn't see anyone she knew, but she might have missed them. She said she was completely overwhelmed by the crowd."

After a moment of consideration, Kingsley said, "Let me see what I can find, Harry. I'll let you know if we discover any leads."

It was as good as anything Harry could hope for, and he bid Kingsley goodbye and left the office.

After Harry had gone, Kingsley stayed where he was sitting for a long time, staring at the note. Finally, he stood up and crossed swiftly to the fireplace. Snatching a handful of iridescent green powder from a small box on the mantle, he threw it into the flames, watching as they turned bright green.

"Minerva," he said, "there's something you should see," and a moment later Headmistress McGonagall was climbing out of the dying flames.

* * *

The hard cobblestone steps of Diagon Alley lead unevenly through the twisting labyrinth of shops, sliding to a stop outside of the white marble of Gringotts. The sun was out and the sky was blue, but a cold wind whipped through the streets, chilling the pedestrians to their bones.

Hermione stood near the bottom step, her eyes scanning the few withes and wizards out and about, searching for one in particular. Finally, out of the continually moving crowd, she managed to recognize the flame red hair and bright eyes. She raised a hand and received an answering wave and a smile.

Without preamble, Ron approached her and said, "Harry went to talk to Kingsley this morning. He was in a foul mood when he got back."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and said sarcastically, "Hello, Ron. It's nice to see you too."

Ron flushed, his skin turning almost as dark as his hair. "You look… uh… nice," he stammered, trying to make up for his lack of earlier greeting. "Do you mind that we are meeting here and not Edinburgh?"

"No, it's fine," Hermione hurried to assure him, a hint of a smile playing around her lips at his obvious embarrassment. "You know, Ron," she continued teasingly, "when we're married, you're going to have to know how to properly start a conversation without me guiding you through the steps."

Ron tried to glare at her, but seeing the look on her face, he couldn't help the smile that broke out across his. "It's been a long day."

Sympathetically, Hermione gave a nod. Then an idea occurred to her and she asked, "Should I not have shown Harry the note?"

Ron winced. "It would have made him easier to live with," he muttered, but Hermione was still looking at him, still looking for a real answer. He shook his head. "We do everything together, 'Mione. You shouldn't have to hide this from Harry."

"I just don't want him to get hurt… physically or emotionally."

"He's a bit of an idiot when it comes to Snape," Ron agreed. "I want to see the traitor brought in as much as anyone else, but…" He shook his head again. "He'll calm down."

Hermione frowned, unsure if she believed that, but she accepted Ron's words for what they were; an attempt at reassurance. She glanced around. "It's cold out here. Shall we find a café?"

Ron gave his assent, and a few minutes later they were tucked into overstuffed armchairs near a roaring fire in the back of a tiny café. The atmosphere was cheery and bright, and patrons were talking excitedly all around them.

"Mum Floo-called this morning," Ron said suddenly. "Wanted to give Harry a stern lecture, but he wasn't there so I got an earful instead."

"About what?" Hermione asked curiously. She had seen Mrs. Weasly's temper turned towards one of her sons or her husband, but rarely towards Harry. In fact, over the years, Hermione couldn't remember a single time the Weasly matron had actually raised her voice to Harry.

Ron grinned. "Harry bought little Teddy a toy broomstick to ride. It only goes a few feet off the ground, but Teddy's been zooming around the house and the garden on it, it's giving Mum a heart attack."

"Remus would be so thrilled to know how well Harry is taking care of his godson," Hermione remarked dryly.

"Are you kidding?" Ron demanded. "Lupin would be thrilled to know his son is going to be a great Quidditch player." He was smiling at Hermione's obvious disagreement as he added, "Who wouldn't want that for their children?"

"Ronald Weasly, don't you dare," Hermione threatened. "I will not have my future children…" Before she could finish the sentence, however, several people rushed up to her and Ron, closing in around them.

"You're Hermione Granger! And Ronald Weasly!"

"Look, Mum, it's real live war heroes."

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Is it true that you and Harry Potter had to escape You Know Who several times? Did you really destroy all the pieces of his soul?"

"I heard you escaped from his giant snake more than once!"

"What was it like, chasing all those Horcruxes?"

"What's Harry Potter like? Is he really brave? Are you really brave? Was it scary? Were you scared?"

After answering several questions and signing a few photographs, Ron and Hermione both excused themselves from the little café and stepped out into the street. It was a relief to get away from the crowds, and Hermione was beginning to become more and more annoyed at her inability to go out in public without being recognized. She could only imagine what it was like for Harry, the boy credited with saving the world, time and again.

"Well, that went well," Ron commented, shoving his hands into his pockets. He glanced over his shoulder, a frown on his face. He'd always envied Harry for his fame, but now he wanted nothing more than to be anonymous again. There was something pleasant about staying out of sight. After the war they had all suffered through, he only wanted quiet peace.

"We're never going to be able to go out in public, are we?" Hermione murmured, rolling her eyes as a few witches and wizards on the street stopped and gawked at them.

Ron laughed. "You're just lucky you don't have to deal with the other Aurors. All the students in training right now are absolutely crazy. And they just adore Harry. I swear, they'd follow him around like little lost puppies if they could."

"I bet the professors love that," Hermione replied, having already heard the stories several times. Both Harry and Ron were celebrities in the program, and people hung on their every word. No doubt the current Aurors were less than thrilled to discover two boys held more prestige than they did.

Ron gave a snort of disapproval. He did not think highly of the professors. He did not think highly of any of the people who worked in the Auror's office. Only those who had been in the Order or in any way affiliated with Dumbledore seemed to have any common sense.

"We know more than they do anyway," he answered. "We've been through more than they've been through."

Hermione accepted this in silence as she watched all the people on the street who were watching her. In Diagon Alley it was impossible to avoid any type of confrontation with the press or the public, and she was starting to remember why she didn't like London.

* * *

"Son? Are you coming?"

Percy glanced up as his father's head poked around the door of his office. He rubbed his bleary eyes, turning from his father to the parchment on the desk in front of him. "In a little bit, Father. Tell Mother I'll be late."

Arthur frowned. Taking a few steps into the room, he asked, "How much longer do you have to stay?"

"I'm not sure," Percy answered, not looking up. He ran his quill over the parchment he was reading, pausing at some particular sentence, looking thoughtful.

Arthur opened his mouth to ask something, but his words were cut off by the arrival of an incredibly pretty witch who stepped through the door without even knocking. She had a narrow face with delicate, elf-like features and long curl hair. She stopped, appearing startled to see Arthur, but she gave him a hesitant smile and turned her attention to Percy.

"Hello," she ventured.

Percy looked up and gave her a smile. "Hello, Penny," he greeted, rising to his feet. He crossed to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I thought you were going to have to stay at St. Mungo's later?" he asked, giving a quick glance to the clock.

"I did too," Penelope answered. "But it turned out that they didn't need me."

Percy turned to his father. "Father, you remember Penelope Clearwater?"

Arthur hesitated. In truth, he had no idea who this girl was, but since both Percy and Penelope seemed to think that he should, he didn't want to admit to his ignorance. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Penelope," Arthur said politely, wondering who this girl was and how her mere presence managed to get Percy's face to light up light Christmas lights.

"You, too, Mr. Weasley," Penelope replied. She turned back to Percy and asked, "Do you have plans for supper?"

"Oh, Mother won't mind if I don't come home for supper tonight, will she?" Percy said off-handedly to his father.

Arthur stared blankly at his third eldest son. He wanted to tell Percy that of course Molly would care and she would miss him. He also wanted to demand details about exactly who this girl was and how they knew each other. How could Percy so casually dismiss the rest of the family in favor of her?

Taking Arthur's silence for acceptance, Penelope turned to Percy and asked, "Are you almost done with work?"

Percy rolled the parchment he had been looking at only moments before into a scroll and nodded. "I'm done," he announced. "Let me just put everything away." He began to move around the room, piling rolls of parchment in a cabinet behind the desk and sorting through letters on a stand by the door.

"So…" Arthur watched Percy with a confused stare. His son was willing to drop everything to spend time with this girl? "How long have you two known each other?"

"Well, we met at the beginning of Hogwarts, of course," Penelope answered instantly. "Percy was very kind, he offered to help me with Transfiguration because I just couldn't turn that toothpick into a needle."

Percy had flushed slightly at her praise, his face taking on a dull pink tinge. It clashed horribly with his hair. "I need to tell Crawley that I'm taking off for the night. I'll be back in a moment." He left the room, and Arthur and Penelope stared at each other in silence, the tension awkward.

"Do you see a lot of Percy?" Arthur asked at last, trying to get a better sense of this girl's relationship with his son.

Penny seemed confused by the question. "I suppose," she said. "I mean, I don't see him any more than you would expect to see someone you are going with…"

Arthur started. "Oh," he said, attempting to sound casual, "so you two are going together?"

Penelope raised an eyebrow. For a moment, it appeared as though she wouldn't answer the question. Finally, she said, "You don't remember me, do you, Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm sorry, Penelope, I…" Somehow, the accusing and disappointed look in her eyes cut through him, reprimanding him so forcefully that he wondered if he hadn't just somehow failed a very important test.

"I guess it is hard to keep track," Penelope said quietly, giving a little shrug, "when you have so many children." She crossed her arms over her chest and explained, "Percy and I have been going together since out third year at Hogwarts. Of course, there was some time when we weren't together… you know, such as during the war, but…" She shrugged again.

Arthur swallowed uneasily. How had he missed something as important as this?

"What happened during the war?"

Penelope seemed surprised by the question, but answered, "I'm Muggle-born, you know. I had to go into hiding." She gave a wry smile and added, "I never did like Madam Umbridge. She's the one who brought me in for questioning."

"How did you escape?" Arthur asked, intrigued despite himself. He knew that this must have been a horrible time for Penelope and she might not want him to bring up old wounds, but it was rare in deed that any witch or wizard who had been brought in on charges of 'stealing magic' actually escaped punishment.

"Oh, well… Percy helped," Penelope answered vaguely. She glanced at the door Percy had gone through moments before. "I was one of the first they brought in, you know. We didn't know what was going to happen to us, but the Umbridge woman was just so…" She trailed off and shuddered slightly. "I felt safer, knowing that Percy wouldn't let anything happen to me."

At that moment, Percy reappeared. "Ready to go, Pen?" he asked. She nodded, and as the two of them left the office, Percy called over his shoulder, "Good night, Father."

Arthur stared, aghast, as Percy and Penelope walked out of the room. He wracked his brain, trying to recall any conversations he might have had with Percy about Penelope. None came to mind, and he realized at that point that he had never even asked Percy what his life had been like for those few years that they weren't speaking. He was slightly surprised that Percy had helped hide Penelope from You Know Who and the Ministry, especially since, according to Penelope, this was a full year before Percy came back to their side.

But to be honest, he thought, how much had he really known his son? Percy had always been somewhat of an enigma, someone he just couldn't understand. He wasn't a Weasley, not the way the others were. He was too serious, and not quite fun-loving enough, and just didn't quite mesh with the family. Harry and Hermione seemed to fit in more than Percy did, and perhaps that was part of the reason it had been so easy to accept them into the family. Perhaps that was part of the reason it had been so easy to feel as though Percy wasn't part of the family.

And perhaps it was time he started paying more attention to his son.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall brushed the soot from her clothing as she climbed back into her own office. It had been a while now since Dumbledore sat at this desk, but it still seemed strange that the circular office was accompanied by another other than the eccentric old wizard. When she sat in the chair behind the desk, she often felt like an imposter, like a cheap charlatan pretending to be something she wasn't.

The portraits were all asleep, accept for Dumbledore. His portrait didn't sleep much, and she wondered if the man had not slept while he was alive either.

"Hello, Albus," she greeted.

"Good afternoon, Minerva," the portrait replied politely.

"I've just received word from Kingsley that there is a new development in the hunt for Snape," she reported, settling herself at the desk. She turned her chair so that she was facing Dumbledore's portrait, wanting to be able to talk to him about this mysterious note that Hermione had received.

"Oh?" As always, Dumbledore's portrait did not seem as interested in this as she would have thought. Did he really have know desire to catch the man who had killed him and betrayed them all?

"Apparently, someone reported an anonymous tip," she continued. "There may be a link between Draco Malfoy and Snape." She wanted for the portrait to say something, but he didn't. Those infuriatingly calm blue eyes just stared back at her, and she felt suddenly uneasy and unsure.

Finally, Dumbledore's portrait asked, "Who received this tip?"

"Hermione Granger," the Headmistress answered. "Do you think it is worth following?"

The portrait gave her a crooked smile. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you claim to know Snape better than any of us," Headmistress McGonagall replied. She paused for a moment, clearly thinking that it was evident that the Headmaster _didn't_ know Snape as well as he believed he had, but she didn't say it. Instead, she asked, "Why don't you ever show more interest in this?"

"I'm a portrait, my dear Minerva," was the answer. "I'm not a member of your world, not really."

"And yet you have an opinion about every tiny detail of this school," she replied dryly, smiling slightly. It was true, the old portrait often liked to comment about what she did or didn't do while in charge. It had been hard for him to move on, to leave this world behind; of that she was certain.

"Why are you so determined to find Severus?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

Headmistress McGonagall didn't say anything right away. When she finally answered the question, her voice was laced with disbelief and sarcasm, and odd combination that made her sound angry and upset. "How can you even ask that? We all trusted him, and he betrayed us. He murdered you, in cold blood, in front of Potter."

"Hm… I don't like seeing the world so caught up in revenge," Dumbledore said. He seemed weary suddenly, although it was quite impossible for portraits to get physically tired. "It does not always bode well for us," he added, a lost look in his eyes.

"He's a threat," she shot back firmly, lips thinned into a narrow line. "He's a threat to all of us, as long as he is still out there." She glared at the portrait, daring him to contradict her, and the room was silent for a moment.

"There are other threats," the portrait said at last, "but you must, of course, do what you think is best."

Now thoroughly disquieted by the entire conversation, the Headmistress rose again and started towards the door of the office. She paused with one had on the knob, and glanced back at the portrait, as though there was something she wanted to say. But she simply shook her head and turned around again, walking from the room.

When the door closed shut behind her, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore let out a weary sigh and said to the empty room, "The things we do for love."

"_After you kill me…"_

"_I do not want to kill you," Snape interrupted, his black eyes flashing with anger. He was livid, but his face was calm and unemotional besides the eyes. He had spent many long years keeping his thoughts and feelings closely guarded from prying eyes, and he refused to fall apart now._

_But Dumbledore continued as though he hadn't heard him, "We will need to set up a way for you to prove your innocence. Not right away, mind you, but after Tom is defeated…"_

"_If you really expect me to stay in the Dark Lord's favor," Snape retorted sarcastically, "I do not think it would be a wise decision to broadcast my true loyalties."_

"_After the war is over," Dumbledore said, his tone patient "you will not longer need to serve Tom."_

"_I don't want your help in this, old man," Snape hissed, letting his self-control fall for one moment. He collected himself quickly and turned away. "I have no desire to have my innocence proven."_

"_I could plant a memory somewhere," Dumbledore mused, still ignoring what the potions Master had said. "Some place safe, where it would not be discovered until after the end…" He leaned back in his seat, pushing his half-moon spectacles further up his crooked nose, and continued, "It would be best if it was simply your memory, but I do see that you would not take kindly to the idea of the Aurors poking around in your head."_

"_You already made a promise," Snape said, forcing the words out between his lips. "Never to tell anyone why I did this."_

_Dumbledore frowned. "We don't need to tell anyone why," he said slowly._

"_You won't tell anyone anything," Snape ordered tersely._

_Dumbledore hesitated, realizing the futility of trying to ignore what his young Professor clearly wanted to say. He drew a breath and asked gently, "Don't you want to be cleared of all guilt?"_

"_There is nothing I want," Snape answered. "Nothing you can give to me." He look so bitter and so lost at that moment that Dumbledore found himself unwillingly agreeing. There was nothing anyone could do for Snape, not anymore._

"_You deserve more than a life as a fugitive," Dumbledore pressed._

"_I deserve what I want," Snape answered. "And that is simply to be left alone by this world that has so utterly failed me on more than one occasion." Dumbledore was wavering, and the younger man pressed his advantage. "You will remain silent, even after this is over. Your portrait will say nothing. If I survive, you will let me… you will let me leave."_

_Dumbledore nodded. It was the least he could do, agreeing to this final wish of the man he had forced to do every dangerous, deceitful task that he needed done. "I'll do it," he said._

_Three little words._

_And the fate of a man was written._


	5. Like Walking a Tightrope

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: Life was like walking a tightrope. One misstep in either direction, and everything came tumbling down.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Four: Like Walking a Tightrope

Penelope Clearwater gathered the last of her belongings together and stuffed them into her bag. She was eager to escape from the hospital today, and she knew perfectly well that if she stayed around any longer, she would invariably be roped into helping with some unpleasant chore.

She was glad that the Healer trainees had already finished their exams. Usually, she would have the annoying chore of watching over some overexcited student who thought he or she could invent a new potion to solve all the world's problems. These idealistic tendencies never ended well, and she often wondered if she herself had been just an frustrating and insipid during her trainings.

As if on cue, however, Margaret Smyth, head of the Healer Training Program appeared in front of her, a smile plastered to her usually stern face. "Ms. Clearwater, just the witch I was looking for," the woman said. Her graying hair was pulled back into a stiff bun and her blue-gray eyes were framed by heavy spectacles. She was a stern woman, and Penelope knew better than to cross her.

"How can I help you, Healer Smyth?" Penelope asked politely.

"We've just finished grading most of our students' exams," the Head Healer replied with an air of someone who finds this particular aspect of their job undeniably boring. "Some of the newer recruits are showing promise."

Penelope nodded wordlessly. A few years ago, she had been one of those recruits who showed promise, and she had a good idea of where this was heading. Healer training was, understandably, a rigorous and extensive course, and very few people succeeded. For anyone who might successfully complete the entire training, the Program set up shadowing opportunities for the summer months. Students would follow one f the younger Healers around, doing their best to learn whatever they could, so that they would be even more prepared for the coming years.

"I would like you to participate in the summer shadowing this year," Healer Smyth continued. "You have shown skill and promise and dedication, which are all attributes you will need to impart to your student."

"Of course," Penelope said. She knew that it was an honor to be picked for this, it meant that the Head Healer believed her to be uncommonly skilled for her age and experience level, it was still a less than welcome task. She would practically have to baby-sit some naïve, unskilled, probably annoying student at least two days a week for the rest of the summer. "Did you have someone in mind?"

"Yes," Healer Smyth continued. She handed Penelope a scroll of parchment. "She won't be back in this country for a few days, so you have time to prepare. I will expect her to start in at the beginning of next week."

Penelope unscrolled the parchment and read the name.

Ginerva Weasley.

"Of course," she forced herself to say before other words of protest could escape her lips and spill into the air between them.

Healer Smyth swept away, and Penelope pocketed the scroll. She reached up to run a hand through her curly hair, something she did whenever she was distressed, and then remembered that it was pinned back into a bun as required by the dress code. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she started walking towards the nearest fire place, deciding to Floo back to her apartment.

She had nothing against Ginerva. She simply did not like most of the Weasley family, and found that the idea of spending time with Percy's youngest sibling was not a pleasant one.

She could only imagine the look that would grace Percy's face when she told him of this latest development.

She had tried, on more than one occasion, to speak to Percy about his family and her concerns. But he refused to hear a word against them. When she complained that they still did not appear to see him for who he actually was, he merely reminded her that it had been he who had walked out on them, not the other way around. When she pointed out that he had been lost in the fray at that house so many times that it really wasn't any wonder that he felt the desire to prove that he was different from the rest of them, he would answer that whatever his motivations, it still hadn't been a good enough reason to say the things he had said to his family.

But it was a reason, she wanted to yell at him, and he wasn't happy now, even though he was reunited with them again.

She paused in front of the fireplace. She wasn't impartial on the subject, she knew that perfectly well. Percy was not like the others, but he was her boyfriend, and she tended to be critical of anyone who made the people she loved unhappy. He had said and done some dreadful things, and he had yet to forgive himself for that. Nor had he forgiven himself for being wrong. She doubted that he ever truly would.

The sound of voices caught her attention, and she tuned away from the fire and her own thoughts. The long hallway was filled with people hurrying back and forth, looking worn and harried, but these voices were coming from in front of her.

She blinked and looked around. To the right, the hallway opened into a smaller passage that twisted out of sight. She walked towards it, slipping around the corner and squinting into the dim light. There were no torches here, and this was a part of the hospital that was not frequently used by others. It lead to the place were magical autopsies were done on the recently deceased, and she knew for a fact that most Healers considered it bad luck to venture into these darker rooms.

In the corridor up ahead, she saw two dark shadows. They were talking, but she did note recognize their voices and their faces were turned away from her. Even if they had been looking at her, it was probably too dark to see anything distinctly anyway.

"Diggory is too well supported," the first voice said. "The man's a Muggle-loving fool, but he's respected by most of the population. Besides, the famous Harry Potter likes him, and that's enough for most people to love him as well."

"Don't be so pessimistic," the second voice answered in a harsh growl. "All we have to do is make sure that he's discredited…"

"Easier said than done," the first voice interrupted.

"I_know_ what I'm doing," was the snapped reply. "And as long as you cooperate, you'll get the Traitor as well."

"You can bring me Snape?"

"I can give you the entire Ministry, idiot. You just need to do what I say and have a little more faith." The second man moved, and Penelope realized that he was leaning in towards his companion, threatening the other one. "Don't screw it up."

"What do you get out of this?" the first voice asked, and now it was higher and filled with anxious fear.

"That's not your concern," the second voice answered.

At this point, the first man turned fully around and caught sight of Penelope. He stared at her, and she stared back, suddenly afraid. It was dim enough that he couldn't make out her features, and he was forced to call out, "Who's there?"

Penelope turned and fled.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall paused next to the white tomb. It was a habit of hers, to come and pay respects to her late predecessor before strolling about the grounds. She liked to wander around the castle and make sure everything was in order. She could still remember the disarray of the Last Battle and the disaster that had been left in its wake.

It had taken months of hard work and dedication before the school was returned to its former glory, and she was not going to let it fall apart again. Not as long as she was Headmistress.

The sunlight glittered across the smooth white marble. It was almost blinding in its intensity, and she was forced to avert her eyes after a moment. It wasn't particularly hot for this time of year, but the sun was bright and the sky was blue and cloudless.

At the far end of the ground, the gates swung slowly open, and the Headmistress turned and looked into the distance. A man was walking towards her, and she knew exactly who he was by the way his long strides covered the ground with casual ease. She hurried forward to greet him.

"Headmistress McGonagall," the man said with a smile.

"Minister Diggory," the Headmistress replied. "I did not realize you were coming. Did you send an owl I did not receive?"

"No," the Minster answered congenially. "I'm afraid this is a surprise visit. Do you have a moment?"

"Of course." Formalities aside, the two fell into easy chatter as they made their way back towards the castle.

"How are you, Minerva?"

Minerva gave a little shrug. "Quite alright, Amos," she answered. "The end of the year is a welcome relief from everything. The students are every bit as tiresome now as they were before I was Headmistress, only now I am in charge of all of them."

Diggory laughed. "I remember my days at Hogwarts quite fondly."

"You were the serious type," Minerva replied. "I don't remember having much trouble with you. Always had your nose in a book, though."

"Hm… yes, I suppose I did." Diggory looked thoughtful for a moment, then he let his gaze wander to the tomb as they passed by it. He paused, an unreadable expression on his face, and bowed his head slightly. "A great loss," he murmured, and Minerva concurred silently.

The silence that fell over the two of them was gloomy, so Minerva hurried to ask, "And how are you doing? Keeping yourself busy at the Ministry?"

Diggory tore his eyes away from the tomb. "Yes," he answered gravely. "Unfortunately, we've had several recent developments that have needed… solving." He seemed to hesitate, as though there was more he wanted to say, but thought better of it. He looked down at the ground for a moment, studying the muddy dirt and the shoots of grass.

"I heard that someone left an anonymous tip about Snape?" Minerva said, giving Diggory a shrewd look.

Diggory nodded, looking troubled. "Happens all the time," he admitted. "There's a price on Snape's head, and anyone who can lead us to him will get a reward and quite a bit of prestige… Kingsley will investigate it."

"Then that is not the cause of your problems?" Minerva asked, puzzled.

"Well," Diggory said slowly, "it is, and it isn't." He eyed the tall building rising in front of him, its many turrets and towers standing out against the skyline. "I never really did like coming back here," he said off-handedly, but Minerva saw the flash of pain that went through his eyes.

"He was a great loss as well," she said reflectively. "A fine boy. He would have made a fine man."

"Yes, well…" The Minister gave a forced smile. "Cedric would not want us to grieve for him. He was a good son, a good person. He'd want us to celebrate the end of the war."

"Tell me of your problems," Minerva requested after another moment of silence. They stepped through the archway into the entrance of the castle itself, out of the heat and glare of the sun. It was quiet, and the stillness was so different from the usual chaos that filled the halls when the place was teaming with children that Diggory frowned and looked around, seeming lost.

"I suppose you know that Potter wants to drag the Malfoys in for questioning?" Diggory said.

Minerva allowed herself a wry smile. "Yes, Kingsley mentioned this. Subtlety was never Potter's strong point." Her footsteps echoed on the stone floor. She stopped for a moment, her face turned fully towards the Minister. "Are you going to bring them in?"

"Kingsley advises against it," Diggory answered, "for many reasons." They resumed walking.

"He protected young Mr. Malfoy," Minerva said thoughtfully. "I suppose it is possible that Narcissa or Draco would have attempted to keep some form of contact with Snape, but I can't imagine Lucius risking his safety and comfortable life for anyone, not even Snape."

Diggory sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't think any of us are particularly good judges of the Malfoys' characters," he commented. He waved a hand, indifferent to the matter. He was not an Auror, and so he would heed what advice Kingsley gave, knowing that the other wizard had a better understanding of these matters than he did. "But that is not the full reason that I am here."

"Oh?"

Diggory reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin roll of parchment. "I received this yesterday."

Minerva took the scroll and unrolled it, her eyes quickly scanning the words. It was short and to the point, and she frowned at the unfamiliar writing.

_Watch your back, Minister. And tell the Headmistress to do the same. There are still people out there who are more dangerous than you think._

"Kingsley says it is the same handwriting as the note left for Hermione Granger," Diggory said cautiously. "If it is one and the same person…" He trailed off and gave the Headmistress a meaningful stare.

"What do you think the reference is to?" Minerva asked after contemplating the note. She handed it back and waited for an answer, her mind whirling. If this stranger was simply warning her about Snape, why wouldn't he have used the potion Master's name? Besides, the writer had warned about "people who were out there." People. Plural. More than one.

"I don't know, Minerva," Diggory answered honestly. "That's what worries me."

"I saw Runcorn at the Malfoys," Minerva suggested thoughtfully.

Diggory wrinkled his nose at the name. "Merlin only knows how he managed to keep himself out of Azkaban," he said bitterly. "Quite a bit of gold must have exchanged hands at some point, don't you think?"

"Mm…" Minerva murmured noncommittally and continued walking.

"We've had our eye on Runcorn for a while," Diggory said quietly, "and there are a few concerns." He grimaced, and elaborated, "Runcorn has been socializing with young Yaxley and Frederick Hannigan."

The Headmistress accepted this bit of information in silence. Young Yaxley, the nephew of the older Yaxley who had run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement during Voldemort's reign had been cleared of any suspicion after the end of the Second War. However, his ties to his uncle had been strong, and it was clear to many that he held the same beliefs as those who had been active Death Eaters.

Hannigan, however, was a completely different problem. He was ambitious, and everyone knew he had his eye on becoming Minister of Magic. He was power-hungry, and reminded Minerva quite a bit of Barty Crouch Sr. Just how far would he go to attain his dreams?

"Someone is desperate for us to take certain actions," the Headmistress said finally. "But before I charge after Snape, I would like to know what this mysterious informant gets from all this."

"Unfortunately, there is far too much pressure to catch Snape to just let this clue go," Diggory said. "If word ever reaches the public that the Malfoys may be involved… Well, it will be a witch hunt." He paused and flashed a small smile. "Pardon the pun."

* * *

_Runcorn has threatened me. Hannigan may be involved and McGonagall may be in danger. Be careful._

Snape sighed. The note was not signed, and a moment after reading it, it burst into flames in his hands and crumbled to ash at his feet. But he knew who sent it and why, and he turned away from the window where it had appeared and looked into the roaring flames in the fireplace.

Narcissa's handwriting was neat and orderly and identifiable as ever. She was the only one who know how to contact him in such a way, and she was the only one who would ever think to warn him about something like this. Her letter said so much more than just those simple words.

Minerva McGonagall. One of the few people left in the wizarding world that he felt any loyalty to at all. Granted, she would probably kill him on sight, and then ask questions later, but before he had condemned himself to life as a traitor, she had been one of the very small number who had actually accepted him into the side of Light.

And it had been hardest to maintain his cold mask and trademark sneer around her. Hardest to see the hatred and disgust in her eyes and not want to confess that this was all a lie, an act he was performing for the greater good.

_Snape watched as the staff slowly filed into the teacher's lounge for their weekly meeting. The Carrows were the first ones here, punctual because they knew better than to cross the Dark Lord's current favorite. They both gave Snape a curt nod and took seats side by side._

_Little Flitwick was next, the tiny wizard stumbling through the door with a glower fixed to his face. Snape was not used to seeing the cheerful man so angry, but he suspected that Flitwick's wrath would be the least of his problems once the day was through. His thoughts were almost immediately confirmed as Madam Hooch, Hagrid, and Professor Sprout all entered, their faces lined with identical looks of hatred._

_One week into the year, and already they wanted to lynch him._

_But it was the next person who came through the door that he dreaded the most, and as he slowly raised his black eyes to meet hers, it was all he could do to keep the blank stare in place, to prevent the trademark smirk from slipping into a grimace of pain._

_Minerva McGonagall was staring at him with utter loathing and contempt._

"_Do take a seat, Minerva," he drawled, "you're delaying the start of the meeting."_

"_Pardon me," she said, her voice almost sarcastic. Taking a seat next to Flitwick, she raised on eyebrow, almost daringly._

_Snape swallowed. In all his years of teaching here, and in all his years of being her student, he had never seen Professor McGonagall look at anyone with that type of disgust. Her usually unrumpled demeanor had been replaced by simmering anger in her eyes and a vicious coldness to her voice._

_He turned away from her, summoned all the strength he had, and began, "There will be some necessary changes to this years curriculum. As I informed the students at the Feast earlier this week, everything that you may have done up until this point is no longer relevant. We are implementing new standards, and I expect your full cooperation in administering them."_

"_And what are these new standards?" Flitwick asked, his voice high and squeaky._

_Snape allowed himself a fleeting smile as he answered, "Society is rapidly evolving, Professor Flitwick. Our new standards are simply to keep up with the changing times."_

_The other teachers pursed their lips and narrowed their eyes, but said nothing else._

"_As I had also informed you all, Muggle Studies, taught by Alecto Carrow, is compulsory for all students. I understand this decision has been met with some… resistance… by the students."_

_Snape paused. Resistance was an understatement. In the very first class, in which Alecto had tried to explain that all Muggles were filth and should be enslaved by those with magic, Ginny Weasley had set Alecto's hair on fire. She claimed that her wand had malfunctioned and she had only meant to conjure a quill as she had forgotten her own. It would have been much more believable had she not had several quills on her desk at the time._

"_And I therefore expect you all to take a few moments for your next lesson to explain to your classes the importance of learning about the proper relationships between witches, wizards, and Muggles," he finished._

"_Relationship? Ha, more like enforced servitude," Professor Sprout muttered quietly, having glanced through the required readings for Muggle Studies._

"_In addition to this," Snape continued as though he had not heard Professor Sprout, "I have also directed the Carrows to take charge of student discipline from now on. Any infractions upon the new rules should be reported to one of them, and they will deal with the student in question." _

"_And if we do not agree with these… changes?" Professor McGonagall asked, posing the question as though it was purely hypothetical._

_Both the Carrows bristled at the question, and Alecto drew her wand. Whatever she was about to do, however, was stopped by Snape, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She froze, arm still out in front of her, watching for his instructions._

"_I'm afraid, Minerva, that any disapproval of these changes would be met with… displeasure." Snape's black eyes glittered with unconcealed malevolency as he continued silkily, "After all, these improvements are in the interests of the students. You wouldn't want any of them to suffer, would you?"_

_The thinly veiled threat left Professor McGonagall speechless._

_Hagrid, however, knew exactly what he wanted to say. Jumping to his feet, he knocked over the chair and table behind him as he bellowed in rage, "Why you ruddy lying…"_

"_Silencio," Snape said, waving his wand almost casually. Hagrid stood, comically opening and closing his mouth, but no sound issued forth. His face was flushed with apoplectic fury, and his giant hands were clenched into fists. But when he made a move towards Snape, the current Headmaster simply lifted his wand and pointed it directly at Hagrid and cast a spell._

_The half-giant froze, his entire body going rigid, before falling to the floor._

"_Hagrid!" Professor Sprout cried, rising and taking a few hesitant steps towards the fallen Hagrid._

"_Enough!" Snape said, his voice quiet, but still filled with authority and deadly warnings. Everyone in the room looked at him. The Carrows were grinning, delighting in the entire scene. Several of the other teachers were doing their best to hide their fear, but it could be seen clearly in their eyes. Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were staring at him with repugnance._

_He waved his wand again, lifting the spells, and Hagrid climbed slowly to his feet. _

"_I will not tolerate a Game Keeper who can't control his emotions, Hagrid," Snape said threateningly. "If you value your job, I suggest that you refrain from repeating such actions." _

Snape forcefully shoved the memory away and stared at the dying flames in the fireplace. It was growing dark outside, and soon the night would descend over all of them. He thought again of Narcissa's letter.

Runcorn, he knew, would do anything necessary to gain power. He had been a wise choice for the Dark Lord, but now that there was no one to keep his thirsts and desires in check, his usefulness came at a price. He would make a bid for control, and destroy anything in his path.

Unbidden, Snape thought of Peter Pettigrew. For thirteen years, Pettigrew had hid as a rat, afraid to face the real world. He was hiding from the Order, who would have wanted revenge. He was hiding from Remus Lupin, who would have undoubtedly hunted the rat-like man down and murdered him in cold blood had he known the truth. But mostly, Pettigrew was hiding from the Dark Lord's remaining survivors, those who thought that he had betrayed them all by sending them to the Potters' home that fateful Halloween night.

Contrary to what many probably believed (Black no doubt included on the list), Snape did not know that Pettigrew was the spy. That night, in the Shrieking Shack, when the Golden Trio and their friendly werewolf Professor had accused him of sending an innocent man to the Dementors, all because of a school boy grudge… Oh, how very wrong they were. As far as he knew, that man had killed Lily, and it was that, and that alone, that had driven his fury and subsequent near-mental breakdown.

But now… now the comparisons between Pettigrew and himself seemed to grow in number. After all, he had betrayed Lily as well, selling her out to the Dark Lord. And now he was in hiding… from more than just the remains of the Order or the Aurors. Now, he was in hiding from the other Death Eaters, because they knew what he had done, how he had betrayed them.

Oh, only a very few new of his betrayal, only those who had been close enough to see what he had done that night, in the deep forest. But he had no doubt that Runcorn was one of those wizards. And as he had been responsible for preventing Runcorn from reaching the true height of power and glory that had been promised under the Dark Lord, he had no doubt that Runcorn would have no qualms about destroying him.

Which brought him back to Narcissa's letter. His best chance at avoiding certain capture and death was to avoid Runcorn and his plots. To simply stay out of all of it, avoid the wizarding world. He was good at hiding, and if he did not want to be found, he could certainly escape discovery.

But Narcissa had warned him, because she understood…

Headmistress McGonagall might be in danger.

"_You're a good person," Lily had told him once, as the two of them stood side-by-side on the Great Lawn. "But I don't like your friends. They keep taking you away from everything good and I… I don't want to lose you."_

"_You'll never lose me," he had foolishly promised, as though forever was something in his power to give._

"_Don't stop caring, Sev," Lily had murmured, smiling up at him. "It's what makes you different from the other Slytherins. It's what makes you special."_

Don't ever stop caring.

Could he stay here, safe and hidden, and leave Minerva to whatever fate she might face? He licked dry lips, fathomless black eyes gazing at the embers.

Don't ever stop caring.

"I didn't," Snape said to the empty room. "I never stopped caring about you."

Save himself or save McGonagall? Give up on his own life or give up being the sort of person Lily had always wanted him to be? Face the Death Eaters, face the Order, face the Aurors, or face himself?

Life was like walking a tightrope. One misstep in either direction, and everything came tumbling down.


	6. Monsters and Men

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: There have been a few questions on why Diggory is Minister of Magic instead of Kingsley. Unfortunately, I can't reveal the reason for that now, but rest assured, it will be answered in the course of the story.

Summary: Harry sighed heavily. "I was just thinking…" "Thinking is good," Luna said bluntly. "Not everyone does it. You don't always do it."

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Five: Monsters and Men

Harry slumped over in his chair and stared moodily at the fire. Ron was at the library, supposedly studying, and Hermione was in Edinburgh, as usual. He, too, was supposed to be reviewing for his exams, but thoughts of Snape plagued his mind. His hands balled into fists, his knuckles turning white, and he thought of all the ways he would punish the Death Eater, all the ways he would make him beg for mercy before finally ending his life.

Kingsley wanted him to wait. Minister Diggory wanted him to wait. Headmistress McGonagall wanted him to wait. And every moment that he was supposed to wait, Snape was still alive enjoying life, laughing at how he had avoided capture. Was he mocking the wizarding world even now?

"Why?" he whispered, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "Dumbledore… how could you ever trust him? How could you let him go free after everything he did to my family?" The anger was boiling now, rising through his veins with a fury and vengeance. "Why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why?"

Quite abruptly, he couldn't stand the silence. He couldn't just sit there with no idea of what to do. He couldn't stand by and let Snape go free, not if he had a chance to do something about it.

He rose, and turned on the spot, Disapparating from the room.

* * *

The few years since the war had been pleasant enough for Draco Malfoy. He'd spent them abroad, first in France, then in Switzerland, and finally in Egypt. He traveled, and occasionally studied, but his parents had managed to retain almost all of their wealth, and he could survive amply on whatever his father gave him.

His return to England, however, had reminded him of just how much he did not like the country. It was a gray day, but most of the days that month had been gray, and the near future was not likely to be any different. In France, the country side was warm and beautiful. In Switzerland, the brilliantly blue sun had glistened on fresh white snow. In Egypt, the water was warm and clear and the beaches were filled with fine white and gold sand.

Here on the English coast, the wind that swept in from the ocean, blowing in gales over the sand dunes, was cold and damp and unpleasant. He kicked the sand with his feet and stared blankly out at the water. The Atlantic Ocean stretched out before him, disappearing as it faded into the gray horizon.

He had seen his mother briefly the day before. They met for coffee in a small café on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. They had spoken for a few minutes before one of the other patrons had approached his mother and accused her of being a traitorous, lying leech who had bought her way out of Azkaban with her husband's gold.

He had been on his feet a moment later, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, stretched out before him in a threatening manner. The patron had reached for his own wand, glaring contemptuously at Draco, and it was only his mother's gentle voice and soft hand on his arm that had stopped the young wizard from attacking.

She had told him not to fight, and they left the establishment quickly.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his white-blonde hair. Was this the treatment his mother had been enduring while he was gone? His parents had been adamant that he spend as much time out of the country as possible, but it was only now occurring to him that they may have done that to ensure that he would avoid the hatred and wrath of the wizarding community in England.

As always, his thoughts went back to that moment on the tower, staring down at Dumbledore's weakened form. He remembered hold his wand in a shaking hand, not wanting to complete the task assigned him. And then he remembered Snape appearing at his side and ending the old man's life.

"_I don't understand," he had protested when he first learned of Snape's true allegiances from his mother. "If Dumbledore wanted to die anyway, why did Snape have to be the one to do it?"_

"_He was protecting you," his mother had answered softly, gently. Her disapproving stare stopped him from arguing that he didn't need protection, and while he huffed in annoyance, she continued, "There are some things you can never take back, once you've already done them."_

Draco gave a bitter laugh. "I was an ungrateful brat, wasn't I?" he said to the wind. All of his sixth and seventh year, Snape had tried to protect him. And what did he get in return? An irritable, moody, arrogant boy who thought he was old enough and mature enough to make his own decisions without facing any regrets.

So many people trying to protect him…

And so many people who still wanted him dead.

He was not surprised to hear the crack of Apparation behind him, although he did wonder idly how Potter had managed to track him down. He'd told no one where he was going that day.

He didn't even bother turning around.

"Hello, Potter."

"Where is he, Malfoy?" Potter demanded, striding forward and catching Malfoy by the shoulder, pulling him hard and forcing him to spin around. "Where's Snape?"

Draco's face filled with shock and concern before he was able to school it into an appropriately confused expression and utter the words, "How would I know?"

Potter smirk. "Your expression just gave you away, Malfoy. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Draco replied evenly. There was no proof against him or his family, he knew that Snape was too clever to leave a trail. Whatever Potter thought he knew, he would never be able to verify it.

"You bloody well do," Potter spat.

"Hmm…" Draco smiled. Potter had his wand out, and it was always a foolish idea to taunt powerful wizards who had little self-control. Still, it was amusing to watch the simmering anger nearly overcome the Boy Who Lived.

"Malfoy," Potter threatened.

"You're right," Malfoy said casually, "I did see him recently. We had a spot of tea at the Three Broomsticks and chatted about his upcoming wedding plans to Madam Hooch."

"Do you think I am a fool?" Potter snarled.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Malfoy asked, feigning ignorance.

"I'll give you one more chance, Malfoy," Potter said coldly. "Tell me where Snape is and I won't hand you over to the Wizengamot and have you strung up like the vile creature you are."

"Oh, big words for a boy who doesn't have any proof of anything," Draco replied easily. "What are you going to do? Tell the world that they should just take your word for it because, as usual, you know everything?"

"I know you are a liar," Potter retorted viciously, his expression twisting with rage.

"And you thought you knew that the Dark Lord had your precious godfather in the Department of Mysteries. We all know how well _that_ ended… But hey, if you want to be responsible for another innocent's death…"

He really wasn't sure what hit him. A spell of some kind, but Potter never said the words out loud, and the pain that tore through his body was unlike anything he had experienced under most of the normal tormenting curses. It flooded through him, and then was gone, and he was on his hands and knees gasping for breath.

He looked up at Potter, but the expression on the other boy's face gave him pause. It was a mixture of disgust and horror, but Draco was pretty sure that neither of those emotions were directed at him. Potter was revolted by what he himself had done.

Before Draco had a chance to say anything, however, Potter had Disapparated. He pulled himself slowly to his feet and stared at the spot his nemesis had stood. The ocean spray, cold and wet, landed on his back and neck, and he shivered. He was home now, and he was beginning to realize it was going to be a very long year.

* * *

He stared at the fire crackling merrily in the grate. The flames licked the logs, burning higher and higher. The glow reflected in the darkness of his green eyes, but he kept seeing Malfoy falling to the sand, gasping for breathe.

He hadn't meant to hurt Malfoy. But his comment about Sirius struck to close to home, and the anger that bubbled in his veins had escaped his control. Even after all these years, his guilt at his godfather's death had never stopped plaguing him. Malfoy was protecting the man who had betrayed his parents and killed Dumbledore, and he still had the gall to bring up Sirius' death like it was some amusing trivia?

He didn't really know what he did. The anger had coursed into his hand and flooded from his hand through the stiff wood of his wand. He must have thought a spell in his mind, but he didn't know what it was.

How could he have done that? How could he have let himself lose control so completely? Would Malfoy report him to the Aurors? Attacking someone with a spell as vicious as that one was not only wrong, it was also against the law.

"Harry?"

He started at the sound and turned towards the door. So lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard it open, or the fall of footsteps on the floor that announced the presence of another person. He relaxed when he recognized the newcomer and offered a tight smile.

"Hello, Luna."

"You didn't answer when I knocked on the door," the blonde said, walking further into the room. "But the door was open, so I was afraid you might have been attacked by Gnattlies. They're bad this time of year."

"Um, no," Harry said, a true smile pulling at his lips. "It wasn't the… uh… Gnattlies." He had long since realized that it was better to just nod at whatever she said instead of trying to figure out just what exactly Gnattlies were and why they would attack him.

"My father had an infestation of them," Luna added, taking a seat on the sofa.

"I'm sorry to hear that?" Harry ventured.

"Oh, well, it was alright," Luna said breezily, giving Harry a smile. "We lured them outside with seeds from the Nefferous plant and they didn't come back. They're really not so difficult to deal with. The key is to never let them catch you unaware."

"Right… er, I'll keep that in mind," Harry said. He shifted awkwardly, staring intently at Luna. She would sometimes drop by unannounced, and most of the time he enjoyed her presence. But he wanted to be alone right now to mull over his disturbing thoughts, and he couldn't think of a polite way to ask her to leave.

"Are you alright?" Luna asked curiously. "You look very contemplative."

Harry sighed heavily. "I was just thinking…"

"Thinking is good," Luna said bluntly. "Not everyone does it. You don't always do it."

Harry blinked, once again in awe of her ability to blatantly state the unpleasant or difficult truths. "No, I don't," he agreed. He certainly hadn't thought through his actions when faced with Malfoy's callous words.

"Did you do something bad?"

Harry frowned, thinking over Luna's words. Had he done something bad? Yes, of course he had. On the other hand, hadn't Malfoy done something bad as well? His actions might have been wrong, but where they entirely unjustified? He didn't think so, but he wasn't entirely sure.

"I attacked Draco Malfoy," Harry said finally. He sank into the armchair across from Luna and gave her a searching stare, trying to determine from her expression what she thought of his statement. She stared back at him, her face an open book of surprise and disappointment and concern.

"Did he attack you as well?" Luna asked in a lilting voice.

"He… well, not physically, no," Harry replied. "He blamed me for Sirius' death and he…" He didn't want to go into great detail with Luna. He didn't want to tell her that he suspected Malfoy of harboring Snape. He didn't want to have to share any of this with her because in her dream-world, the one she seemed to live in every day, bad things might happen, but they could always be overcome. He didn't want her optimism or her insights. He just wanted to be left alone.

But Luna made no move to leave. Instead, she said, "Did he say something mean to you? Did he attack you in a non-physical way?" She shook her head and added, "Sometimes that hurts just as much. Even more. Students at Hogwarts were mean to me sometimes. It wasn't fun."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, the words empty and meaningless. He was sorry, but it wasn't like there was anything he could do to change her experience.

"I know," Luna said. "You are a good person. You just don't always think."

Harry nodded slowly. Part of the reason he so enjoyed Luna's company was that he never had to guess what she was actually thinking. Unlike almost everyone else in the wizarding world, she would simply state whatever was on her mind. Her candor was refreshing.

"Snape betrayed my parents. He killed Dumbledore. I just want…" Harry shook his head. "Justice."

"It sounds to me like you want revenge," Luna remarked casually.

"I have a right to it!" Harry snapped, jumping to his feet and beginning to pace back and forth across the floor of his flat. "I have a right to it," he repeated in a quieter voice. Pettigrew was dead, Voldemort was dead, but Snape still lived while James and Lily lay buried under six feet of earth.

Luna rose as well, seeming to sense that it was time to leave. She wandered over to the door, than glanced over her shoulder at Harry. "Ron told me once that you kept Mr. Black and Professor Lupin from killing Peter Pettigrew." And she was gone, leaving Harry with his troubled thoughts.

In his third year, he had prevented Sirius and Lupin from killing Pettigrew. In the Shrieking Shack, he'd saved Pettigrew's life. Why?

_I don't think my dad would have wanted you to becomes killers because of him. _

He flopped back down onto the sofa and buried his head in his hands.

* * *

Penelope Clearwater tapped her quill against the desk idly as she stared blankly at the window. She hadn't reported the conversation she'd heard to anyone, and she had no idea who she would even tell anyway. She didn't really know any Aurors, and although she was sure the Weasley family did, she didn't want to go to them for help.

Before she could think any further on this subject, however, Percy appeared in front of her, looking haggard, worn, and confused. He paused a moment, frowning at her moody expression, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Penelope shook her head, refusing to answer. It was really pointless to tell him, there was nothing he could do to solve the problem. She would simply need to go the Auror department at the Ministry and find someone there to talk to.

So instead of burdening Percy with a retelling of the conversation, she asked, "What's the matter with you? You look flustered."

"I… uh…" Percy ran a hand through his hair and glanced around to make sure they would not be disturbed or overheard. Convincing himself that it was safe to speak, he said in a low tone, "We received notification that someone used Dark Magic…"

"Death Eaters?" Penelope asked breathlessly. Percy, working as high up in the Minister's own office as he did, was one of the people who often knew details about the various investigations of those suspected of using Dark Magic. He never participated directly in any of the investigations, but Minster Diggory was frequently appraised of anything happening in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and as such, he heard more than most.

"No," Percy said, looking upset. "Shacklebolt was speaking to the Minister about it… they have reason to believe it was Harry Potter."

"What?" Penelope practically screeched. "Why? How?"

"I don't know," Percy admitted guiltily. "I wasn't supposed to be listening to the conversation, and the Minister closed the door when he saw me standing there…"

"Well," Penelope reasoned, "since you didn't hear the full story, maybe there is more…" She dropped her quill onto the desk and considered Percy's recounting carefully. "There must have been mitigating circumstances."

Harry Potter had managed to defeat one of the wickedest wizards that ever lived by the use of a disarming spell. He had survived the war, avoided Death Eaters, and escaped capture several times, all while never once firing a permanently damaging spell. The idea that he would use the Dark Arts now was just unfathomable.

"Yes…" Percy agreed reluctantly.

"Oh, come now, Percy, you don't really think Harry Potter would go the other side, do you?" Penelope said light-heartedly, attempting to coax a smile from her melancholy boyfriend.

But Percy didn't smile. He just gave her a long, hard look, and said, "I don't think he's evil, but I don't always trust his judgment either." He leaned forward, resting his hands on her desk. "I just hope he's clearly thinking through whatever he's doing."

* * *

It caught Runcorn by surprise to hear the loud crack of Apparation in the middle of his living room. His house was well guarded by many different wards, and he was not used to having visitors arrive unannounced. His hand reached automatically for his wand, then froze as he saw who had arrived.

Severus Snape was standing directly in front of him, his wand outstretched, pointed at his forehead.

"Careful, Runcorn. Give me one good reason to kill you, and I'll do it," Snape warned, his voice still the same sneering tone that it had been when he was the Dark Lord's right hand man and at the height of his power.

"Do you really think you'll get out of here all in one piece? My wards had alarms on them, Snape. The Aurors will know someone had broken into my home. They'll investigate." He held his hands at his sides, but he was itching to grab his wand and duel with this wizard. Still, it would be folly to rush into anything, especially now, while Snape still had the advantage of already having his weapon drawn.

"Do you really think I was foolish enough to come without disabling the alarms first?" Snape shot back with a smirk. He watched as the color drained from Runcorn's face, and he felt the stirrings of pride within him. To be able to disarm someone else's wards was a great feat, the mark of a very powerful wizard, and Runcorn knew it.

Snape lowered his wand slightly, still keeping his fingers tightly wrapped around it. Runcorn took a seat on the armchair near the fire, and stared up at Snape defiantly.

Snape couldn't resist another barb. "And do you really think, Runcorn, that the Aurors will rush to your defense? I gather you are no longer as… influential… as you had once hoped."

Runcorn flushed, but managed to snarl a response. "Neither are you," he retorted. "The Dark Lord would have given you everything, but you threw it all away. And for what? Allegiance to an old fool?"

Snape curled his lip in disgust. "The Dark Lord took from me the only thing I ever truly wanted. And no, I did not throw it all away from Dumbledore." He eyed Runcorn for a moment, then changed the subject, not wanting to show weakness by dwelling on thoughts of Lily. "There are rumors that you are making a bid for power. One that will, no doubt, include misfortune for myself."

"And you've come to deliver a warning, have you?" Runcorn sneered. "Let me guess… If I come after you, you will kill me? How… unimaginative."

"Oh, I can be quite a bit more imaginative than that," Snape said softly, his eyes glittering with cruelty. He paused, then said, "But no, I did not come here for warnings or threats. For if I ever decide your life is no longer worthwhile," he smile grew into an unpleasant leer, "rest assured, I will not actually warn you that your time is up."

"I doubt even with the element of surprise, you would find me an easy target," Runcorn countered, although his hands gripped tightly to the edge of the chair. He had seen Severus Snape perform feats of magic he never even dreamed were possible, such as flight, and he did not want to cross the potions Master without a fool-proof plan.

"I've faced more powerful wizards than you," Snape said callously. "And the Dark Lord is dead, yet I am still here."

"I'm sure that mistake will be rectified in time."

Snape didn't bother responding to the comment. Instead, he let his gaze wander over the room while he carefully mulled over his next words. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively soft, but the tone sent shivers up Runcorn's spine.

"I want you to deliver a message for me. You will tell Hannigan that I'm not fool, and if he truly wants to capture me, he will meet me, in person, at Spinner's End. And he will come alone."

Snape carefully watched Runcorn's face as he said the words. The other man's eyes opened slightly, just enough to indicate his surprise at Snape's words. Just enough to reveal that Snape was entirely accurate in assuming that Hannigan was involved.

"There is always an Auror stationed at your old house, Snape," Runcorn said finally, his voice holding firm. He would not show signs of shock or fear in front of his enemy. It was a weakness, and he would not allow the potions Master to use that to gain the upper hand.

* * *

"There won't be tonight," Snape replied assuredly. And without another word, he was gone, leaving Runcorn alone in the silence of the empty house.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Snape folded his arms across his chest and gave Lucius a cold stare. "Can't a man visit his friend?" he sneered in a tone that caused most first years to quail and fall apart under his stern glare.

"Do you really think it… wise… to be here?" Lucius asked.

"Worried I might sully your perfect reputation?" Snape drawled sarcastically. He glanced idly around the house, but he knew that they were alone. He wouldn't have chanced entering the Malfoys' home if there was any chance that he might be caught.

"What do you want?" Lucius pressed.

"Your assistance in a small matter," Snape said, walking further into the study. Lucius was sitting at a large mahogany desk, leaning back in his chestnut-wood chair. The large room was oval-shaped, the floor carpeted in a plush rug, the walls lined with various portraits of Malfoy ancestors. A tall bookshelf stood against one far wall, filled with rare and old books.

"A small matter?" Lucius asked skeptically.

Snape turned towards his friend. He waved one hand towards the furnishings of the room and said dryly, "It appears your wealth managed to survive the war undiminished."

"You need money?" Lucius asked with a confused raise of his eyebrow. He and Narcissa had given Snape everything he needed, including money, to survive in the hovel he had chosen. He would not deny his friend more money now, but Narcissa had visited Snape only a few days ago, and had not mentioned any requests Snape might have made.

"If you feel the need to deny me this assistance," Snape said silkily, "I suppose I understand. After all, the only thing I ever did for you was keep your only son alive and safe…"

"I didn't mean it like that," Lucius hissed, rising. His face flushed a dull red with anger. "You know we are most appreciative of everything you did for us… and for Draco."

"Indeed."

"Do you need money?" Lucius asked directly.

"No," Snape answered, taking some pleasure in the frustrated expression that briefly flickered through Lucius' pale eyes.

"Do you realize that we are being constantly watched?" Lucius hissed. "Every time my wife visits you, she puts all of us in grave danger. Now you come here and waste time baiting me while the Aurors are looking for you?"

"They won't find me," Snape said simply, confidently. "But are you too afraid to take the risk?"

"Are you a fool?" Lucius demanded forcefully. "Why put yourself in unnecessary danger?"

"Runcorn is a problem," Snape said.

Lucius hesitated, then nodded slowly. "He is. He threatened Narcissa and Draco."

"He wants power, and he will do anything to get it. He's made me his sacrificial lamb, but if I am destroyed, he will ruin you to," Snape continued.

"Obviously," Lucius replied. "We knew the risks in helping you, in throwing our fates in with yours."

"And yet you did it anyway," Snape sneered. "I'm touched." He folded his arms over his chest, his long fingers wrapped around his arms. "Narcissa thinks Hannigan may be involved in Runcorn's plans. I think she is right."

"She mentioned her concerns to me," Lucius conceded. "All the more reason you shouldn't be here."

"Worried about your safety still?" Snape smirked. "If the Aurors come, I'll tell them I threatened to kill if you refused to let me into your home."

"Has it occurred to you," Lucius asked in a low voice, "that I might be concerned for your safety as well?" He sat down again, the anger fading slightly as he reminded himself that Snape was always difficult to talk to, and this twisting conversation was not a surprise.

"Now I'm truly honored."

Lucius refrained from rolling his eyes at Snape's words and answered, "Like you said, Runcorn will make you his sacrificial lamb. Every moment you spend in the open is a moment he comes closer to catching you. Then you will be thrown to the Wizengamot, and we've all seen_their_ ideas of justice and mercy."

"The quality of mercy is not strained…" Snape muttered under his breath, reciting Shakespeare.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Quoting muggles now, are you?"

Snape didn't answer. Instead, he asked a question of his own. "Will you help me or not?"

Lucius sighed. Conversations with Snape often annoyed him to the point of wishing he was never friends with this sarcastic and frustrating man. But they were friends, and that was not something that was easily undone. Draco was alive because of this man, Narcissa had survived while he was in Azkaban because of this potions Master. From the moment Snape had expressed a need for assistance, Lucius had known exactly what his answer would be.

"Tell me what you need," Lucius said softly, "and it will be done."


	7. The House on Spinner's End

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including the lines from _The Lord of the Ring_ trilogy at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: Lucius and Snape concoct a risky scheme while Minister Diggory deals with politics.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Six: The House on Spinner's End

Lucius Malfoy paced back and forth across the hardwood floor of his bedroom. Narcissa was gone for the night, at some society function. At her bequest, Draco had gone with her, leaving her husband all alone in the house.

Lucius hadn't told her of the plan. It had been Snape's request, to make sure as few people as possible were aware of what he was doing. Knowledge would only put Narcissa and Draco in grave danger, something both men were loathe to do.

Lucius glanced at the clock on the wall. Quarter to nine. Fifteen minutes.

He inhaled sharply and strode from the room, pausing on the landing above the stairs. The grand stair case lead down to the parlor on the first floor. From where he stood, he could see the front door, the side hallway that lead into the dining room, and the entrance to his study. Behind him, the corridor branched to the right and the left, leading to other rooms.

The Dark Lord had stayed here once, living in these very rooms while he pulled the strings of all their pathetic marionettes in the Ministry.

The Dark Lord was gone, and with it, any hope for building a better society shriveled away as well. They would be left in the clutches of Mudbloods and Muggles, forcing their own lives to fall into the categories designed by these blood traitors currently in office.

"What's done is done," Lucius whispered to himself. That war was over, but others were just beginning, and he would not let his family fall prey to them.

He walked down the stair case and then made his way into the dining room. A house elf was standing there, the same one that Narcissa took with her when she visited Snape. The elf was trustworthy beyond measure, and too terrified of Lucius to even contemplate betrayal.

"Do you understand the plan?" Lucius asked sharply.

"Yes, Master," the elf replied in a high-pitched squeak, bobbing her head frantically.

Lucius turned away and stared at the door to the manor. How much longer, he wondered, and how could they be certain that this would work? The house elf hurried from the room, recognizing from her Master's silence that he wanted to be left alone.

And then Lucius heard the sound of footsteps on the floor, and he looked up at the entrance to the room just in time to see Snape step through the door, his wand in front of him, a cruel smirk on his face.

"Hello, my old friend," Snape practically spat, before waving his wand at Lucius and casting the Cruciatus curse. Lucius fell to the ground, shuddering in pain, and Snape gave him a contemptuous look before lifting his wand and letting the curse fall. "I thought I'd stop by for a little chat."

Lucius pushed himself to his knees and thrust his own wand at Snape, hissing, "Stupify!"

Snape blocked the spell with a flick of his wand, creating a shield between himself and Lucius. "Where's the wand, Malfoy?" he demanded angrily.

"What wand?" Malfoy shot back, face flushed as he fired another spell at Snape. The vase on the table behind Snape burst into fragments, tiny shards of pottery flying through the room. Snape didn't even flinch.

"The Elder Wand," Snape replied. "Potter took it from the Dark Lord, but we know that he doesn't have it anymore. What did he do with it? Where is it?"

"Even if I did know, do you really think I would tell you?" Lucius taunted. His white-blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, and he pushed it away impatiently, glaring at Snape.

"Don't lie!" Snape snarled, again firing his wand. A series of gashes appeared on Lucius' face, and crimson red blood leaked from the wounds. The Malfoy patriarch winced in pain, but kept hate-filled eyes locked on Snape.

"What makes you think I know?" Lucius asked, ducking behind the dining room table and throwing several more curses towards Snape.

"Runcorn told me that you knew," Snape replied, blocking the curses. He jabbed his wand at Lucius, muttering Crucio under his breath, and watched as Lucius twitched on the ground. When he finally removed the curse, he continued with cruel malice, "Runcorn said that you had discovered…"

Before he could finish the sentence, the house elf ran into the room, eyes wide with horror. "Master!" she cried, aghast at seeing Lucius cowering on the floor. "You is a bad man!" she cried, pointing her finger at Snape and sending him careening backwards through the air.

"Get… Aurors!" Lucius gasped, pain rippling through his body.

The house elf obeyed the command, disappearing with a loud crack.

Snape picked himself up from the floor, gave Lucius one last disgusted look, and turned on the spot, disappearing as well.

* * *

The house was silent. Frederick Hannigan stood just outside the boundaries, careful not to alert anyone to his presence. He knew that at least one Auror was always scheduled to watch the house, because its former occupant was still one of the most worrisome public safety concerns.

A glittering appeared, taking the form of a silver fox. It leapt with an easy bound across the overgrown stretch of grass, pausing next to the shadowy figure positioned near the rusted gate. The patronus reported some message, and the man at the gate nodded his head and disappeared. The silver fox then vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind.

Hannigan walked hesitantly forward. When he reached the path, he glanced left and right. Letting out a sigh of relief upon deciding that he was unnoticed, he pressed forward, pausing at the gate. It hung precariously on its hinges, prepared to topple over at any minute. Beyond the gate, the derelict house rose, dark and gloomy.

He pushed the gate open, cringing slightly at the loud squeak of protest it gave.

"You can go ahead, Hannigan. No need to be so cautious. There's no one here to hear you."

Hannigan spun around. Snape was standing behind him on the path, the gate the only barrier between the two men. The potions Master had his hands crossed over his chest, his wand clasped loosely in one hand.

Hannigan reacted as quickly as he could, raising his wand and crying, "Stupify!"

Snape moved so quickly that Hannigan almost blinked in surprise. He conjured a shield, protecting himself from the spell, then countered with an instantaneous and silent disarming curse. Hannigan felt his wand flying from his grasp before he could process what had happened, and a moment later Snape held both wands in his hand.

"Now that was just foolish," Snape drawled. He pocketed Hannigan's wand and pointed his own at the other wizard. "After you, Mr. Hannigan," he said softly, gesturing towards the house. "And let me be the first to welcome you to Spinner's End."

Knowing that he did not have a choice, Hannigan hurried along the path up to the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the house, choking on the dust that hung in the air. It was silent, save for the echoing footsteps and the awkwardly loud breaths of the two men.

Snape kicked the door shut with his foot.

"Runcorn said you wanted to talk," Hannigan said quietly. "I came… alone."

"Obviously," Snape hissed. "Did you really think I would reveal myself if you weren't alone? I have no desire to foolishly risk my life."

"How did you get the Auror to leave?" Hannigan asked. He glanced at the grimy window, the pale moonlight cascading through the water-streaked glass. He could see the distorted reflection of his own face in the windowpane, and the blurry lines of Snape's stiff back outlined against the night sky.

"I have my ways," Snape replied.

"What do you want?" Hannigan asked. He felt ill at ease, facing this dangerous enemy without a wand. And yet Snape had made no move to attack him in anyway besides the initial attempt. He let out a long sigh, waiting.

"You're planning something," Snape said coldly.

Hannigan allowed himself a smirk. "You have your secrets," he said tauntingly, "and I have mine."

"Idiot!" Snape snarled. "I have a wand, and you do not. You are in no place to mock me."

"You need something from me," Hannigan answered pointedly. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't." It was his turn to cross his arms over his chest in a defiant manner. "Wand or not, you won't get the information out of me." And in a final display of open disdain, he turned his back on the potions Master.

"How dare you?" Snape fumed.

Hannigan walked over to the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. He knew he was pushing his luck, but Snape hadn't attacked him yet, so he would keep going until the risks outweighed the gains. He pulled down one of the books and stared at it casually. "So why are we meeting here?" he asked as though the question didn't really mean anything to him. "Why go to all the trouble to return home?"

Snape stiffened imperceptibly. This was not his home, had not been his home since Lily lived near him, played with him, shared their secret spot by the river with him.

"Why not?"

Hannigan raised an eyebrow, glancing over one shoulder with a questioning smirk. "Growing sentimental, are we? Do you wish you could come home again?"

Snape clenched one hand, then slowly relaxed each finger. He would not allow Hannigan to goad him into doing something stupid. He was here for one reason and one reason only, and that was to protect Minerva McGonagall and the Malfoys from whatever Hannigan was scheming. He reminded himself, over and over, not to underestimate this new enemy.

"My desires are none of your concern," Snape said finally.

Hannigan shrugged and replaced the book. He was playing a dangerous game, walking a very fine line between life and certain death. But Snape still needed his information, and for right now, that was the reason he was still alive. He could use that leverage, stay one step ahead of this vile traitor, until the opportune moment arrived.

"As you wish," Hannigan murmured.

"Tell me, Hannigan, why you are so determined to have me captured?" Snape pressed.

"I would have thought that my motives were obvious," Hannigan answered calmly.

"And you have no compunction about working with Runcorn? The man is hardly innocent of wrongdoing."

Hannigan's lips twisted into a thing sneer. " And I hardly think you are one to speak of morals." He ran a hand along the front of his robes, smoothing out the winkles and shaking off some of the dust that had collected. "But if Runcorn will help me accomplish what is necessary, than so be it."

Snape pointed his wand at Hannigan's head and muttered "Legilimens." Almost immediately, Hannigan erected the mental barriers around his mind, providing a blank wall protecting his memories from Snape's spell. Snape pressed harder, forcing his mental capacities to smash against the wall repeatedly. Hannigan hissed in pain and dropped to his knees, but his metal forces held firm.

Snape dropped his wand. He had not expected Hannigan to be such a skilled Occlumens. And although he probably would have been able to smash through the barriers eventually, it would have destroyed Hannigan's mind in the process. That would not do, Snape did not want to have to clean up the sloppy leftovers of an unwise plan.

But mental strength invariably came from physical strength. Break a person's body, and his mind would not hold out much longer. Only the most superb Occlumens could hold onto their barriers through even the most excruciating physical pain, and Snape always prided himself that he was one of the few with that talent.

There was really only one thing left to do, Snape decided. He pointed his wand at Hannigan. "Crucio."

"_The Dark Arts are dark, Sev," Lily said, wrapping her cloak tightly around her chest and watching as Severus fiddled with his scarf. "That's why they're called Dark Arts."_

"_Even if you use them to protect someone you care about?" Snape argued, giving her a searching look._

_Lily let out a little sigh and glanced around the snow covered grounds of the castle. "The wrong thing for the right reasons is still the wrong thing, Sev."_

Forgive me, Lily, Snape thought as he watched Hannigan writhing with a dispassionate gaze. But some times the only possible choices were both wrong, and if his actions sent him to hell… well, he was probably already headed for a painful afterlife anyway.

By the time the last of Hannigan's mental defenses fell and Snape was able to gain full access to his mind, the Auror had returned to his post outside the house. Seeing the movements from inside, the Auror in question swiftly drew his wand and slid silently forward, pausing on the steps outside the door to listen to the gentle the sounds that surrounded him. He could hear the gentle whimpering of one man, and a growl-like muttering of another, both masked partially by the wind that rattled along the sides of the house and across the dust-laden floorboards.

Snape pulled his wand away from Hannigan just at the moment that the Auror burst into the room. He spun round, eyes widening at the sudden appearance of another wizard, and only just manage to avoid the stunning spell sent his way. Hannigan had risen to his hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably, and with a look of utter hatred on his face, he reached out one hand and managed to send Snape flying through the air. Snape hit the far wall, gasping for breath, and slid to the ground. He had not expected Hannigan to have such control over wandless magic, but once again, he reminded himself how dangerous it was to underestimate the enemy.

"Stupify!" the Auror roared again, but this time Snape was prepared and he reverted the spell back upon its owner. The Auror fell to the ground with a heavy thud, unconscious.

"Obliviate," Snape intoned, erasing the memory of the Auror. It wouldn't due for anyone to know that he was here.

Snape glanced at Hannigan. The other wizard was breathing heavily, but there was a mad light in his eyes that made Snape suddenly wary. Without warning, Hannigan launched himself at Snape. The physical attack caught the potions Master so much by surprise that he was at first unable to defend himself. Hannigan's fist collided with his face, and he felt something tearing at his hair and clawing his skin. A moment later he shoved Hannigan to the floor and turned his wand on the now apparently half-mad wizard.

"Is your tolerance for pain so low that you have already become unhinged?" Snape asked in a low hiss.

Hannigan pointed his hand at the stunned Auror, and the wizard's wand sudden flew through the air. Hannigan closed his fist around it, his lips pressed into a thin line, the mad light in his eyes growing more vibrant, more furious. His body began to tremble as he haphazardly fired curses and jinxes towards Snape. As he had not properly won this new wand from its master, it did not work as well for him, and most of the spells fizzled out before they could have any affect on Snape.

The potions Master curled his lip in disgust and Disaparated.

The moment he was gone, Hannigan stopped shaking. The crazy look in his eyes disappeared. Instead, a slow smirk spread across the face of the completely sane man. He stared down at his left hand which was clenched around several pieces of long, greasy hair.

"You'll help me, Snape, whether you want to or not," he said before striding from the house.

* * *

Lucius pulled the thin silver strand from his temple and placed it carefully in the basin of the pensieve. The silvery substance glittered at him, reflecting the light from the floating candles near the ceiling.

Auror Shacklebolt gace Lucius an uncertain look. He and several others Aurors had been brought here by Lucius' house elf, who claimed that Severus Snape had attacked her master. At first, he had not been entirely inclined to believe the creature, but upon arriving at Malfoy Manor, they had found Lucius, semi-conscious, collapsed on the floor of his own dining room. Shacklebolt had quickly called several other Aurors to search the premises while he revived the white-blonde wizard.

Lucius had repeated the story of being attacked by Snape, and when Shacklebolt had expressed his doubts about the validity of the testimony, Lucius had gone so far as to offer to show his memory.

Three other Aurors strode back into the room. Shacklebolt glanced at them, then said to Lucius, "Will you accompany me to view this memory?"

"I'd rather not," Lucius answered, feigning distaste. "I have no desire to relieve being tortured."

"Of course," Shacklebolt replied. Again, he seemed unsure, but he stepped up to the stone basin and leaned forward, allowing himself to be sucked into the swirling contents.

Then the sound of footsteps could be heard in the hall and Narcissa rushed into the room. She was dressed in stunning deep blue dress robes and her hair was coifed in an elaborate twist. Silver and diamond earings dangled, framing her face, and her throat was adorned with a diamond necklace. She looked exactly like the high society woman that she was, yet her face was not schooled into polite interest. Instead, her eyes were wide with fear.

"Lucius!" she hurried towards him. "Aurors stopped me on the way in. What has happened?"

"Where is Draco?" Lucius demanded, pretending to be worried about his son's safety.

"Upstairs," Narcissa answered. "Why? Lucius, tell me."

"Severus Snape attacked, madam," one of the Aurors interrupted. Narcissa froze, lifting her eyes to pin her husband with an uneasy gaze. He stared back, his expression completely unreadable, and Narcissa shook her head slowly.

"I don't… I don't understand…"

"He said something about searching for the Elder Wand," Lucius drawled, taking Narcissa by the forearms and leading her to a seat at the table. He gestured for her to sit down and continued, "He mentioned Runcorn. When I refused to help him, he was less than pleased."

Narcissa swallowed nervously. She wished for just one minute alone with her husband to find out what was going on. But the steady look in his eyes reassured her that this was all part of some greater plot and her wisest course of action would be to play along.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No," Lucius replied. "Nothing that won't heal." He gingerly touched the scratches on his face. "I shall have to tend to these soon," he mused.

Narcissa pulled out her wand. "Allow me," she offered.

As Narcissa tended to her husband's wounds, Shacklebolt emerged from the pensieve, his expression grave and thoughtful. He nodded a cordial welcome to Narcissa, but she barely even glanced in his direction.

"Any idea, Malfoy, why Snape thought you would know where the Elder Wand was?" Shacklebolt asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "Runcorn said I did. But I don't. Why would I?" he asked rhetorically, wincing as Narcissa finished mending the last wound.

"And how did Snape get past your wards?" Shacklebolt pressed.

"I have no idea," Malfoy admitted, "but rest assured I will erect extra safety measures to prevent this from happening again."

"Runcorn and Snape are working together?" one of the other Aurors asked, glancing at Shacklebolt questioningly.

"So it would seem," Shacklebolt mused. Turning back to the Malfoys, he said, "I am going to station an Auror outside your Manor for the next few days, just in case Snape tries to come back. In the mean time, I will speak to Runcorn and see if perhaps we cannot discover the truth of the matter. I may come back to ask you more questions."

Lucius affected an utterly bored tone and replied, "As you wish. I will take my wife up to our room so that she may retire to bed. I will be down in a moment to discuss any last details with you."

Shacklebolt appeared a little put out by this blatant disregard, but he forced a smile and brief nod. Turning to the Aurors again, he said, "Search the room once more to make sure that we did not miss any clues. Then you may return home, or to your other posts. I will go find the other Aurors on the grounds and explain the situation to them."

"Yes, sir," the Aurors replied.

After Shacklebolt had left the room, one of the Aurors turned to his companion and said, "Hey, Baker, where were you stationed tonight?"

Baker grimaced. "Spinner's End," he replied. "Glad to have gotten this call, that place is creepy." He shook his head as the others began to methodically search the room.

"You probably ought to go back soon. We're not supposed to leave that post for any extended periods of time."

"I know, I know," Baker said dismissively. "But they did call for me to come also. They called for everyone who's on Snape's trail." He glanced at Lucius and Narcissa once more, then turned away. "I'm heading back now. Tell Shacklebolt where I am if he asks."

"Right."

Lucius slid his hand under Narcissa's arm and dragged her away from the room. They climbed the grand staircase in silence, then at the very top Lucius waved his wand and cast the Muffliato spell. Knowing that they were now able to talk freely, Narcissa spun around to face her husband, her eyes filled with fear.

"What is going on, Lucius?"

"Come into the bedroom," Lucius instructed. He lead her into the room, closing the door firmly and turning to Narcissa. "Snape needed to ensure that the Auror posted at Spinner's End would not be there this evening. He asked me to help him with that. And apparently that Baker was the one who was supposed to be there, and he was called away, so the plan worked."

"But what happens if the Aurors discover that this is all an act?"

"They won't," Lucius replied confidently. "All they have is my memory, and Snape and I made sure that the memory would not have anything incriminating in it. He worked out all the details of the plan, Narcissa. You don't need to worry."

"But why did he need to be there?"

Lucius crossed his arms and said in a low whisper, "He framed Runcorn, he probably managed to extract some of the truth from Hannigan, and he sent a message to both of them that he is not to be taken lightly. He killed three birds with one stone."

"I don't like this," Narcissa protested.

"Snape can look out for himself," Lucius countered. "I need to go back downstairs."

Narcissa licked her dry lips and nodded in assent. After her husband was gone, she sat down on the bed and stared blankly at the wall. It was true that Snape could look out for himself, but who was going to look out for her, Lucius, and Draco? The further entangled they became in this mess, the more dangerous their actions became. And Runcorn and Hannigan were certainly not to be underestimated.

* * *

Amos Diggory stared at the man in front of him, eyes narrowed slightly. He did not like this man, but he supposed that this was to be expected. After all, a spy was not meant to be liked.

"Let me see if I can fully understand what you are reporting," Diggory murmured softly, his brow furrowed. "Hannigan is calling for reinstating the Dementors at Azkaban. Harry Potter has used some form of dark magic against Draco Malfoy. Snape has attacked Lucius Malfoy and is apparently in league with Runcorn. Young Yaxley has initiating protests against the use of any form of Muggle technology in the Ministry, and Abbot has proposed legislation requiring anyone sorted into Slytherin to be separated from their parents to ensure that they do not grow up with pureblood prejudices?"

"Yes," the spy answered. He was just a young man, recruited at the end of the war to report to the Minister on what was happening in the country. It was his job to determine what was a threat to the national security and stability and what was not. Every week, he would appear in the Minister's office, his arrival unnoticed by everyone else who worked for the Minister. And every week, he would give his report, discuss the ramifications of whatever the new developments were, and then slip away, his departure as unnoticed as his arrival.

Diggory rubbed his eyes wearily and thought over this information. "Does Hannigan have support for his pleas?"

"Quite a bit of it, actually," the spy answered, his tone clearly indicating his disapproval at the idea. "Many people want the captured Death Eaters to be forced to endure that which they forced upon us."

"Despite the fact that Dementors are some of the vilest creatures ever to walk the Earth?" Diggory asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer. The spy said nothing, and the Minister bit his lip uneasily and gave a little nod. "I suppose the thirst for revenge does often cloud one's judgment."

"Indeed," the spy agreed.

"I am more concerned by Harry's use of dark magic," Diggory continued.

"Our sources say that Potter used it against young Draco Malfoy as a response to something rather cruel that Malfoy said about Black," the spy explained. "We believe Potter is… remorseful."

"He is driven by a need to see Snape apprehended and brought to justice," Diggory answered thoughtfully. "I will speak to Arthur Weasley and ask him to keep an eye on the boy."

"Is that all?" the spy demanded skeptically. "In any other circumstance…"

"In any other circumstance, it would not be Harry Potter," Diggory pointed out. "The world is barely holding itself together, and Harry is society's icon of hope and redemption. We cannot tarnish his name by adding this accusation to his reputation."

The spy looked displeased. "So he is above the laws of mere mortals?"

Diggory gave the spy an impatient huff. "Do you think I _like_ having to do this? Of course Harry should face the same consequences as everyone else. But I am the Minister of Magic, I cannot concern myself with the welfare of one child at the risk of sacrificing the safety of the country."

The spy nodded, reluctantly accepting the truth in that statement. He often forgot that Diggory had been appointed to this position because of his abilities to cope with any situation thrown at him. He gave the general appearance of a doddering old man, sweet and gentle, and sometimes slightly senile. But his mind was sharp and quick and able to comprehend the political ramifications of almost any scenario.

Still, the spy could not help but insert the biting comment, "That is because you no longer have that one child to sacrifice."

Diggory flinched at the reminder of Cedric's death. He was silent for a moment, then he said firmly, "I will speak to Arthur Weasley. And perhaps Kinglsey. We will make sure Harry does not repeat his use of dark magic. But I will not risk our society's rather shaky stability."

"Of course," the spy replied.

"So… Snape attacking Malfoy."

The spy nodded.

"Shortly after Hermione Granger receives a note saying that Malfoy and Snape are working together."

Again, the spy nodded.

"And after I receive a note warning myself and the Headmistress about dangerous enemies."

For a third time, the spy nodded.

"And apparently Snape is working with Runcorn to find the Elder Wand."

At this point, the spy had given up nodding. He merely sat there, waiting.

"That is confusing," Diggory said finally, his words blunt. "I will think on this. Perhaps Kingsley will have some ideas."

"Will you speak to Runcorn?" the spy pressed, curious.

"Yes," Diggory replied. "Obviously." He lapsed into silence, mulling over everything he had learned. Then he requested, "Tell me about Yaxley and Abbotts plans."

The spy gave a bitter chuckle and said, "Yaxley is opposed to using Muggle devices in the Ministry." He paused, then added, "I'm not actually sure that we use any of their technology in our Ministry."

"Then why is he arguing this?" Diggory demanded.

"I would guess, Minister, that he is simply using this as a means to preach his ideas. Nobody is going to question him too closely about the specifics. And his ideas… they have weight among the population."

Diggory sighed. It was true, Yaxley was gaining favor. His uncle, currently spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, would have been proud. His ideas were simply new versions of the same old prejudice against 'impure blood.' Instead of calling on Muggle-borns thieves, however, he had simply resorted to expressing his concern that they were ill equipped to run wizarding society. After the war had ended, an initial backlash against purebloods had allowed almost every high position in the Ministry to be filled with Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. Then, a few months afterwards, the Ministry had started facing problems. They were the typical problems any Ministry will face at the end of a war; anger and hatred, ruined ties with other countries, the spread of infectious diseases, poverty, broken families trying to rebuild their lives while fear still lingered in the air. But Yaxley had managed to take these problems and blame them on the Ministry, saying that they were too inexperienced in matters of the wizarding world to adequately address these problems. After all, how could someone not born and raised in this world fully understand it? Never mind the fact that they may have spent much more of their life in this world than in the Muggle one…

He had never said one discriminatory word against witches of less than pureblood, never called them Mudbloods, never used the terms Blood traitors or Thieves, but all his accusations had been implied, and Yaxley _was_ rapidly gaining popularity.

"And Abbott?"

"His ideas are quite the opposite," the spy answered. "He wants to separate Slytherins from their families. It is the parents influence, he says, that forces children to grow into the adults they become."

"His daughter Hannah was in Hufflepuff," Diggory said softly. "She was a year or two younger than my Cedric. His wife was killed by Death Eaters very early on during the first year after Voldemort's return was formally recognized."

"He is driven by the desire for revenge," the spy concurred.

"His idea is ridiculous," Diggory said.

"Yes," the spy agreed, "but it won't be the last of the anti-Slytherin legislation."

Diggory nodded gravely. Too many problems to deal with. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. Finally, he said, "You may go."

The spy rose and left the room.


	8. The Dark Arts

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, so, so sorry this is so late. My other stories took over, and I just didn't get around to writing the next chapter for this.

Summary: The Weasleys face an unpleasant truth, Hannigan and Runcorn get worried, Snape becomes desperate, and Ginny makes an appearance.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Seven: The Dark Arts

"…and then he doesn't even show up for the exam," Ron finished with a frustrated sigh, sinking further into the chair and allowing Hermione to sit next to him. He and Harry had gotten into an argument yesterday afternoon, when Harry had been in a particularly foul mood, and Harry had stormed off in a huff. Ron had not seen him since, and his prolonged absence was beginning to concern the youngest Weasley son.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling about in the cramped kitchen, doing her best to listen to her son's concerns, while Bill and Fleur sat across from Ron with identical grim expressions on their faces. Percy was standing, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"Harry missed one of his exams?" Hermione asked, outraged. She pursed her lips together in such a look of disapproval that Ron felt a sudden sympathy for Harry should Hermione ever catch up with him.

Mrs. Weasley came into the room, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron and carrying along little Teddy Lupin against her hip. "Have you spoken to him? Is he all right?"

"I don't know," Ron answered. "He's been so angry since that letter 'Mione received. His temper…"

"Even so," Bill interjected, "it's unlike Harry to behave so irresponsibly. Although Snape brings out the worst in him."

"Hmph," Fleur snorted in disgust, "Zat traitor brings out zee worst in all of us." Most of her accent was gone now that she had spent so much time in England, but a few traces of her heavy French remained.

"All he's ever wanted was to be an Auror," Ron agreed. "I just don't understand what's gotten into him lately. And I spoke to Luna, who said that she saw him briefly yesterday, but didn't know any more than that."

"She didn't say what he was like yesterday? Whether he was behaving strangely?" Bill asked.

Rom shook his head, but Hermione pointed out logically, "It's Luna. It's hard to know what she considers strange." That comment brought an amused smile from Percy, who had otherwise remained impassive during all of this.

A sudden high-pitched wailing filled the air, and Fleur rose gracefully to her feet. "Victoire ees waking," she said, before sweeping from the room to check on her daughter.

"This whole thing with Snape is just…" Hermione paused, struggling for words to express her thoughts. Then she said, "You remember how Harry was during our fifth year? No control over his temper, always angry, always… just so irrational. He's like that again."

"But he wouldn't do anything stupid, would he?" Bill asked concerned. "Nothing… dangerous."

"Of course not," Ron said staunchly, defending his best friend, but next to him Hermione did not look convinced. Before she could voice her concerns, however, it was Percy who spoke up.

"Actually, he already has," Percy said grimly, and all eyes turned to him. He knew very well that he wasn't supposed to know this, wasn't supposed to be passing along the information to his family, but he didn't see what else he could do.

"What do you mean?" Bill asked sharply.

"The Minister believes that Harry used the Dark Arts…" Percy trailed off, then added quickly, "by accident, of course."

As Percy had expected, his statement was met with a variety of responses. Bill looked suspicious, as though he couldn't quite figure out if he was to believe Percy. Mrs. Weasly looked upset, but she didn't contradict her son. Ron shook his head furiously, glaring at Percy, and snapped, "That's not true. Harry wouldn't do that."

Only Hermione remained unemotional, her expression completely blank.

"Harry did do it," Percy answered firmly, giving Ron a defiant look.

"But why?" Bill asked. "Why would Harry…"

"He wouldn't!" Ron cut in. He gestured with one hand to Percy and added, "This is just some Ministry attempt to discredit Harry. Again. Or maybe it's Percy's jealousy. Maybe the prat made the entire thing up. But Harry wouldn't use the Dark Arts."

"The way he didn't Crucio Amycus Carrow during the battle at Hogwarts?" Percy answered softly.

A complete silence met his words. Mrs. Weasley gasped, lifting her hands to her mouth. Bill's eyes narrowed coldly, and he said finally, "Harry never used the Cruciatus Curse, Percy. I agree with Ron. You're making this all up."

"Yes, he did," Hermione answered. All eyes swung to her, and she flushed a dull red, but continued firmly, "It was during that battle. Well, before the actual battle started. Harry told us," she gestured to herself and Ron, "that he had used it on Carrow when Carrow spit at Professor McGonagall."

"I never heard about that," Mrs. Weasley murmured, surprised.

Hermione shrugged. "Harry only told Ron and I. And maybe Ginny. It wasn't something he was proud of," she added delicately, "but he was just so mad at the time."

"If he only told Hermione, Ron, and Ginny," Bill asked curiously, looking at Percy, "how did you know?"

"After the battle," Percy said slowly, "Professor McGonagall told Minister Diggory. He knew he couldn't release the information because… well, the wizarding world needs to believe that Harry is their hero, their pure savior, not tainted by anything dark. So he didn't reveal that information."

Ron still looked defiant. "Harry wouldn't…"

"Oh, be sensible, Ron," Hermione snapped finally, her irritation getting the better of her. "This isn't some story Percy came up with to discredit your best mate." She rolled her eyes and said waspishly, "It's true. Deal with it."

"Fine," Ron said sourly. Then he spun to face Percy and asked snappishly, "So when did this alleged use of the Dark Arts take place? And on whom?"

"Yesterday, late morning," Percy replied. "On Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt stretched his long legs as he stared thoughtfully at the interior decorations of the study. It was very sharp, stark contrasts of white and black, with an occasional hint of bright green. The symbolism was not lost on the Auror; these were Death Eater colors.

Obviously, Runcorn had not changed much in the few years since Voldemort's final fall.

As if on cue, the man himself appeared in the doorway of the room. He eyed Kingsley with a look of pure disdain, but said simply, "Auror Shacklebolt. What a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice was laden with sarcasm.

"Mr. Runcorn," Kingsley replied, "I would like to speak to you about the Elder Wand."

If Runcorn was at all surprised by this, he expression did not betray it. Instead, he gave a slight shrug and gestured for Kingsley to take a seat. He settled himself into an arm chair and asked, "What exactly would you like to ask?"

Kingsley was momentarily thrown by this blasé response, but he took the seat across from Runcorn and said, "What do you know about it?"

Runcorn considered the question before answering, "As far as I know, it is a myth. The Deathly Hallows and all that…" He wrinkled his nose and added, "Just a children's story, Auror Shacklebolt."

"In the final battle between Harry and Voldemort, Harry made reference to the wand," Kingsley countered. "And Voldemort agreed that he had it, that he had stolen it from Dumbledore."

Runcorn nodded. "Yes, I heard that," he stated coldly. "So perhaps it is more than just a legend. Still, I fail to see what this has to do with me?"

"We have reason to believe that Severus Snape is after that wand," Kingsley explained. "It goes with saying that he could do terrible damage if he were to gain possession of it." He folded his hands neatly in his lap. "I hope you understand the importance of preventing that catastrophe."

"Of course," Runcorn sneered, the tone of his voice clearly conveying his disinterest in the subject. "But I still do not understand what any of this has to do with me."

Kingsley hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. So far, Runcorn had neither panicked at the questions, nor had he shown any interest in them. This lack of response concerned Kingsley; either Runcorn didn't know about Snape's words to Malfoy, or he was a very good actor. Either way, it would be more difficult to get information out of him.

Finally, the Auror said, "It has come to our attention that Snape may have made contact with you."

Runcorn leaned back in his seat, eyeing Kingsley with disgust. He curled his lip and replied, "If he had, I would have reported it."

"It was Severus Snape himself who said that he had been in contact with you," Kingsley pressed, wondering how Runcorn would respond.

For a moment, Runcorn was at a complete loss for words. Then he asked cautiously, "And how did Snape tell you this?"

"Is it true?" Kingsley countered.

"Of course not," Runcorn seethed angrily. "I have nothing to do with that traitor, and I never shall."

Kingsley nodded. His years in training as an Auror had given him the ability to read most people. That, combined with a nonverbal, wandless Legilimency often allowed him to ascertain if the emotions people purported to have were in fact truthful. Only the most skilled Occlumens, such as Snape, could fool him.

And Runcorn's hatred of Snape was one hundred percent real.

Kingsley rose. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Runcorn. I believe that clears the matter up."

"Pleasure," Runcorn drawled sardonically, and Kingsley swept from the room.

* * *

Hannigan was not remotely surprised to see Runcorn appear in his home. In fact, he had almost been expecting the man to show up earlier than this. Upon seeing his co-conspirator, he placed the scroll of parchment he had been reading on the table and rose.

Runcorn did not waste time on civility. "Why does Shacklebolt think that I've been in touch with Snape?"

Hannigan shook his head wordlessly, then stammered, "I… I don't know."

"He thinks Snape is after the Elder Wand," Runcorn continued, his voice rising in volume. "He thinks I am as well. This will not work if the Ministry is constantly watching us!"

"Snape somehow ensured that the Auror stationed at Spinner's End would not be there last night," Hannigan said, thinking quickly. "Perhaps whatever his methods, they also framed you…"

Runcorn considered this, then added, "The Malfoys may be behind it. They are still close to Snape, still on his side."

"I don't understand that," Hannigan interrupted, rubbing a hand over his face and letting out a sigh. "They worked against You Know Who in the end. Why would they side with his right-hand man?"

Runcorn gave Hannigan a long look. He had forgotten that Hannigan did not know the truth of Snape's loyalties. Very few did, only a few of the Death Eaters who had seen his final acts against the Dark Lord. And most of the Death Eaters were dead now, or in Azkaban, unable to clear his name. And even those who did know did not understand why. Why would Snape have changed his allegiance and worked for the other side? Because they all knew that he had been loyal to the Dark Lord once… what had changed?

But Runcorn couldn't tell Hannigan the truth. The other man's ambition might allow him to overlook most of the crimes that he was committing, but sending an innocent man… a hero, really… to a cruel and painful death at the hands of the society he had saved… Hannigan's morals might protest against that. Runcorn couldn't take the risk.

"Snape saved Draco Malfoy from death at the hands of the Order and Dumbledore," Runcorn said at last. "He maybe the vilest of traitors, but he did save their son." He shook his head and spat, "They will protect him, no matter what else he has done. They ignore his other crimes."

"We will bring them down as well," Hannigan said confidently.

Runcorn nodded absently. "Snape has somehow managed to frame me, to force the Ministry to suspect me. He has also proven that he can manipulate the Aurors to gain access to previously restricted spots." He narrowed his eyes at Hannigan. "What happened when you met with him last night?"

Hannigan appeared unconcerned as he replied, "He knows that we are planning something, but he doesn't have proof of anything." In truth, he was much more worried than that, but he refused to let it show. Snape's actions over the past few days had obviously been meant to intimidate him, to prove that the potions Master was someone to be feared, someone who could still influence the entire world to suit his own purposes. He would not let those intimidation tactics succeed.

Runcorn tapped his foot impatiently. "It doesn't matter if he has proof. He can still obviously frame us." He began to pace, his steps echoing in the room.

"And we can frame him," Hannigan answered with a twisted smile. He pointed with one hand to a jar on the table near the door, a small vial that contained a few long, black, greasy strands of hair.

Runcorn crossed the room and lifted the bottle. He stared at it for a moment, a strange expression crossing his face, a mixture of disgust and triumph. "Are these…?"

"Yes."

Runcorn turned. "What do you plan to do with them?" he demanded.

"I haven't decided yet," Hannigan replied calmly, "but they will come in handy. Hair always does."

"You will inform me of your plans as soon as you make them," Runcorn ordered tersely. "Remember, I have much to lose as well." He didn't want Hannigan to do anything reckless or stupid, anything that could compromise their agenda. He had worked too long and too hard at this to let anyone ruin it.

"And you still have not told me what you stand to gain," Hannigan pointed out severely.

Runcorn glowered and answered furiously, "Do you still question my motives?"

Hannigan didn't answer. He was becoming more and more concerned by this plan, especially now that Snape had chosen to become personally involved. What did Runcorn stand to gain, and why did he refuse to divulge it? Was there more to all of this than met the eye?

It had seemed like a good idea at first, working with Runcorn. He was powerful and still well-connected to the old pureblood families. Despite the constant suspicion from the Ministry, Runcorn had been able to remain in a high enough social and political position to aid Hannigan's pursuit of his goals. But at what cost? He hadn't cared before, because the Malfoys and Snape deserved what was coming to them. But now…

"Are you getting cold feet?" Runcorn hissed.

"No," Hannigan said. He looked away. He wasn't going to back out, he wasn't going to give up. He wasn't afraid of the consequences…

Was he?

* * *

"Did you get what you wanted, Snape?"

Snape barely glanced up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table. His wards had alerted him to Lucius Malfoy's presence before the wizard had appeared in the room with a loud crack, so he was not particularly startled by his guest.

"I got some information," Snape answered. "And I think Hannigan will tread a little more carefully around me from now on."

"Did you get any _useful_ information?" Malfoy pressed. "Or was this whole elaborate scheme of yours just a way to get us into trouble?"

"Don't worry, Lucius, I'm not a fool," Snape answered. "I know what I am doing."

Except that he hadn't learned anything useful. He hadn't been able to force or coerce the details of the plan from Hannigan. Which meant that Minerva was still in danger, and he didn't know what to do.

He needed Dumbledore. He had needed Dumbledore from the very first moment he set foot in that school, and although the man had managed to spectacularly fail him on more than one occasion, he had, in more recent years, provided both the help and concern that Snape had associated only with Lily. He smirked inwardly. So that extended his list of people actually worth caring about to six now; the three Malfoys, Minerva, Dumbledore, and, always, Lily.

But Lily wasn't there, and neither was Dumbledore, and he couldn't exactly ask Minerva for advice.

She didn't react well to his presence anymore…

"_You gave Ginny Weasley ten detentions?" Professor McGonagall seethed as she stormed into the Headmaster's office. "She didn't do anything wrong!"_

"_She said _his_ name," Snape replied silkily, "and any mention of that old fool is worth more than ten detentions." Snape gave a thinly amused smile as he watched Professor McGonagall quivering with indignation. "She got off light, and she should count her blessings."_

"_That old fool was the bravest, wisest, best Headmaster this school has ever seen," Professor McGonagall replied furiously, "and a far better man that you or your Lord."_

I know_, Snape thought. _But I am here and he is not, and I cannot change any of that_. Aloud, he answered with a sneer, "Yes, and look where it got him." He turned away from her just as the rage filled her eyes, but he heard the rustle of her hand against her robes and said, "I would not draw that wand if I were you, Minerva. As I have told you countless times before, anyone who does not agree with my methods of running this school will find themselves out of a job."_

_She strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He turned to watch her departure, a smug expression on his face until the door closed and he was alone. Then he sunk wearily into the chair, feeling much older than he should, and much more exhausted than he could afford._

"_I am sure you could find a first year Hufflepuff to torment if that would make you feel better," a voice said, and Snape turned around to face the portrait and those constantly twinkling blue eyes._

_A wry smile grew on Snape's face as he answered, "I suppose I could."_

"_She will understand in the end," Dumbledore's portrait assured him. "They will all understand."_

"_I would rather they understood now," Snape hissed._

_The portrait did not respond right away. When it finally spoke, the voice said softly, "You could. Show them your memories, and they will understand."_

"_And forfeit my position at the school? I would leave all the children in danger," Snape countered with a resigned sigh._

"_So?" Dumbledore's portrait asked. "Does it matter what becomes of them?"_

_Snape glared at him and rose to his feet. Leave it to Dumbledore to play on his conscience. "I think I'll go track down some wandering Hufflepuff now," he snapped before stalking from the room._

In a way, it was his love for Lily that drove his motivations. But it was also more than that. It was the desire to be the person he had been when he was with her, to feel that he was doing the right thing. That somehow he would leave an imprint of the world, help shape it into something better. He had made mistakes, but he could make up for them. Like Dumbledore, he understood the necessity for second chances.

"I know you are not a fool, Severus," Lucius answered, "but it is my family that you are putting in danger as well."

"I know," Snape said. He rose. "I must speak to Dumbledore."

"He's dead," Lucius said bluntly, now eyeing Snape as though he was afraid the other man had lost his mind.

"I know that," Snape snapped irritably. "But I can still speak to his portrait."

"You can't break into Hogwarts," Lucius argued. "It's the most well protected place in all of England. They'll catch you."

But Snape wasn't listening. Instead, his mind was whirling away, thinking over other thoughts, other plans, ways of sneaking into a well-guarded school and obtaining a private audience with a portrait.

"You're thinking like a madman," Lucius said, his voice now taking on an edge of desperation. "Severus, think…"

"I am thinking," Snape retorted. "I have been thinking this entire time. I need to stop them. I need to stop them before…" He didn't finish the statement.

_You disgust me_, Dumbledore had said once, and at the time, no one had ever spoken a truer word. The things he had done disgusted even himself, twisted his stomach in unimaginable ways. All in the name of pursuing power and honor and respect, and what had it gotten him?

Nothing more than a life as a fugitive, seeking refuge in this out-of-the-way hovel, watching in helpless frustration as the world spun around him.

_Don't stop caring_, Lily had said, and he hadn't. Not then, and not now.

He looked at Lucius Malfoy, the tall, proud, powerful wizard who stood on the dirty floor in this cramped kitchen, his expensive robes and exquisite walking stick out of place among the worn, second-hand objects that adorned the place.

Six people in the world worth caring about.

"I need to break into Hogwarts."

* * *

He'd gone about as close to the graves as he could, but something always turned him back. The cemetery, connected to that little church, should have welcomed him to the graves of his parents, but…

He'd thought, even, of going to visit his old house, the half-ruined, dilapidated structure where his parents had died. The spells cast on it remained as strong as ever, preserving it forever in its ruined state. And yet…

He just couldn't.

So, instead of visiting his parents' graves or his old home as he had originally intended, Harry Potter found himself sitting on a bench near the very end of one of the twisting lanes that wound its way through Godric's Hollow.

He wondered what his friends would say when they learned what he had done to Malfoy. He could picture Hermione's face clearly, a sort of mixture of pity, disappointment, and condescension. Ron, on the other hand, wouldn't say anything. He might ask Harry if there was anything at all _he_ wanted to say, and would listen. But he wouldn't offer advice or condemnations or approval. Ginny was a bit more difficult to predict. Would she be supportive or understanding or upset or angry?

Luna, of course, had been the most helpful. Her comments still resonated in his mind, and he thought about them over and over, wondering how exactly how he had reached this point where he would be taking morality advice from someone who assumed that if the rest of the world believed something, it was undoubtedly wrong.

He'd missed the Auror exams.

"I thought you might be here."

Harry started and looked up as the familiar redheaded walked into view. She was taller than he remembered, or maybe it was just that he had forgotten how much she had grown up in the past few years. She was still as beautiful, and her mere presence still brought a smile to his face.

He rose to his feet and took a few steps towards her. "Ginny."

"Actually," Ginny said, glancing around, "I thought you might be at your parents' graves or by your old house. But you weren't, so I wandered around a bit, and here you are."

"Here I am," Harry agreed. He could tell by the closed and guarded expression on her face that she somehow knew, and he wondered how quickly information like this traveled. "How?" he asked, and because it was Ginny, he didn't need to finish the question. She understood.

"I heard it from Ron, who got it from Percy, who apparently eavesdropped on a conversation of the Minister's," she answered. She took his hand and lead him back to the bench. "I only got home about an hour ago, and Mum wanted me to come over to visit her for a while, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first. Especially since Ron said he hadn't spoken to you in a while…"

"Did you see Luna?" Harry asked curiously, knowing that is Ginny had returned to the flat that she shared with her… unique… friend, she probably would have heard from Luna a bit of the story as well.

Ginny nodded. "Something Luna said when I got back first made me wonder… that's why I decided to talk to Ron."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He deserved it," he said coldly, firmly.

"Did he?"

"I wanted to hurt him," Harry admitted. "I… I wanted to make him feel what it felt like to…" He shook his head, weary. He looked at Ginny, and said, "I have to find Snape. I have to find him before I can move on with my life." He hadn't said those words aloud to anyone, ever, but hadn't he known all along that they were true?

"You can't dwell on revenge," Ginny countered.

"It isn't revenge," Harry replied. He was silent for a moment, a contemplative look on his face, then he said, "Not really, anyway. But he killed my parents. He handed them over to Voldemort, and I… I need to face him one last time. I need to get come kind of closure."

"He's dangerous, Harry," Ginny warned, her gentle eyes clouded with worry. She squeezed Harry's hand. It was not the homecoming she had expected. She had wanted to surprise him in his flat, and they could have a romantic dinner, and she would regale him with stories of her trip, with news of Charlie and dragons. She had wanted her first day home to be filled with happiness and laughter, not this somber, lingering regret and despair.

"I know he's dangerous," Harry agreed. "But I need this. I have all this anger inside of me, and if I don't face him…" He gave a sad smile. "I wanted to hurt Malfoy, but not like that. Not that way. Not with the Dark Arts."

"You need to be careful. The world needs you."

"I am so sick of being a hero," Harry muttered in annoyance, and, once again, his words rang with unflinching truth. "I need to do this… for me. For my parents."

Ginny knew by the determined look on Harry's face that she would not be able to convince him otherwise. So she did the only thing she could. She leaned her head on his shoulder and asked, "So what happens now?"


	9. You Can't Go Home Again

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: First of all, to all my reviewers, just a reminder: if you sign in, I can answer your reviews directly. Secondly, to answer one question from a review, this will not end up with Snape and Harry killing each other. It might not turn into a heartfelt mentor-student relationship, but they will, eventually, reach some sort of understanding. I am trying to keep the story as close to cannon as possible (given that it is AU), and we know that Harry forgives and mourns Snape in the end.

Summary: He didn't even know why he was there, really, or what it was he was looking for, what he hoped to find.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Eight: You Can't Go Home Again

Percy watched with narrowed eyes as Ron and Ginny spoke in low whispers. He'd heard her story a few times already, when she'd repeated it for their mother and for Bill. And although her words had been defiant and defensive, even she could not excuse Harry's decision. To completely ruin any chance he might have had to be an Auror by simply not showing up to the exams…? That was idiocy, and Percy was worried.

He turned away from his younger brother and sister and walked to the window of the room. Outside, a fine misty rain fell over everything, leaving the grass glistening and wet. He felt suffocated, but he supposed he deserved the feeling given everything he had done in the past. Why should he have the right to call this place home now, when he had not wanted it to be his home before?

He glanced again at the others in the room. Ron and Ginny were paying him no heed, and his mother had slipped into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Bill was there as well, probably discussing the newest development or playing with little Teddy Lupin, who had become a steadfast presence in their home. He rubbed his eyes and wondered to himself if anyone would notice if he just disappeared for a little while.

He walked out the front door and into the garden. The gnarled trees and overgrown grass blurred slightly as he felt the rain slick against his hair. He thought about casting a spell to protect himself from the mist, but before he could draw his wand, he heard a soft voice at his side.

"Hello, stranger."

Percy turned, a smile creeping onto his face as he recognized the voice. "Hello, Penny," he greeted.

She was standing by the gate, holding an umbrella over her head. She was Muggle-born, he reflected, so it made sense that she would favor a muggle contraption over a simple spell. He knew several witches and wizards who liked umbrellas, although he himself had always favored a magical means instead. It allowed him to keep both hands free.

"I was just coming to find you," Penelope said. She glanced at the house. She hadn't been to the Burrow in a very long time, not since long before they had graduated from Hogwarts. She wasn't entirely sure her presence would have been welcome in the home, or that Percy would have wanted her there. But she hadn't seen her boyfriend in a longer time than usual, and his absence concerned her.

"You could have sent an owl," Percy suggested. He, too, glanced at the house.

She walked over to him, holding the umbrella over his head. "I could have," she agreed. Owls, she had once told him, were impersonal, and better suited for conducting business than pleasure. He was smiling teasingly at her, and she was surprised that he remembered that conversation.

"If you come in, you could meet the rest of my family," Percy offered, although his tone left little doubt that he didn't actually want her to meet any of them. He looked behind him, and wondered if anyone had noticed his absence yet. "Ginny's home," he added, as though that would mean something to Penny.

It did. She flinched.

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?" he asked quickly, worriedly. Had he said something wrong, something that would upset her?

"No problem," she lied easily. "I just didn't realize your sister would be returning so soon. I… must have lost track of the days." She licked her dry lips, nervous. Although she had known all along that Ginny was to shadow her over the summer, it had still come as a nasty shock when she realized that Ginny was already home. The Healer-in-Training would most likely be at St. Mungo's starting within the next day or two.

Percy nodded, only partially believing her statement, but knew not to press her on it.

"So why are you outside in the rain?" Penelope asked curiously.

Percy flushed a crimson red that clashed horribly with his carrot-colored hair. "I… uh… fancied a walk." He couldn't explain to her that he felt left out among his own family. This was not the time to burden her with such complaints. After all, he'd earned exactly what he was receiving now by ignoring them all those long years.

Penelope raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Are you not happy here?" she asked, wondering if she was asking too much.

"I am happy," he replied firmly. Again, he looked back at the house. "There is just a lot going on right now, Penny. It's… complicated."

She opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. She had wanted to tell him about the conversation she had overheard, about the two men who were clearly plotting something having to do with the Ministry and Snape. It had been a few days since the incident, and it had been weighing heavily on her mind.

Still, she couldn't burden him with this, not right now when he was obviously distracted by something else.

They stood there, the two of them in the rain, silence filling the space between them.

Finally, Penelope asked, "Tell me about it?"

"You can't go home again, Pen," Percy answered cryptically. "I think I always knew that, but…"

Before he could finish whatever he had wanted to say, the door of the Burrow opened, and Mrs. Weasley came bustling out. "Percy, dear, there you are, I was looking for…" She stopped at the sight of Penelope, standing next to Percy, holding an umbrella over both their heads.

"Mum, this is Penelope Clearwater," Percy said awkwardly, hastening to make the introductions. "I think you met her once or twice in the past."

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Weasley," Penelope offered.

"You, too, Penelope," Mrs. Weasley replied, looking back and forth between the two. Percy was holding Penelope's hands, and the moment her eyes fell on that particular feature, her entire face lit up. "Won't you come in for some tea?" she requested politely.

But Penelope had no desire to be put any more unnecessary uncomfortable situations, and shook her head, declining, "Thank you, but I can't. I need to get back to St. Mungo's." That was a complete lie, but it seemed the best thing to say at the moment.

"Penny is Healer," Percy added.

"Oh, our Ginny is training to be a Healer," Mrs. Weasley gushed.

"I know," Penny replied before she could stop herself, and she received confused stares from both Percy and Mrs. Weasley. "I… uh… saw that she was doing an internship over the summer there. It's a prestigious program, only a few students are accepted each summer."

Mrs. Weasley flushed with pleasure. "Well, you will have to come by another time, Penelope," she said encouragingly. "Percy, do come in soon, or you will catch your death of cold out here." And she bustled away as quickly as she had come.

Percy and Penelope watched her go. Then Penelope turned back to her boyfriend and said, "What were you saying? About not being able to go home?"

"Things aren't going to go back to the way they were before," Percy said softly. There was too much anger and annoyance, too much grief, for them all to reconcile. Sure, his family had welcomed him back. After the war, anyone still alive was thrilled to be reunited with their family. But conversations were still strained and it was hard to handle the ways in which he was still pushed to the side.

Penelope tilted her head to the side. "Is that a bad thing? Do you want to go back?" she asked.

Percy let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know," he admitted.

* * *

The house was small and rather compact. It was painted a soft blue-gray with white trim, and looked almost exactly like every other house on the street. The neatly trimmed front lawn was surrounded by rows of hedges, and a small plot of flowers flourished underneath the window sill.

Harry stood underneath the tree at the edge of the driveway, watching from beneath the secrecy of his invisibility cloak. He didn't want to reveal his presence quite yet, he wasn't even sure if he ever wanted them to know he was watching. He didn't even know why he was there, really, or what it was he was looking for, what he hoped to find.

It hadn't been hard to track down the appropriate address, they were technically family, after all.

The door to the house opened, and the boy who came walking out did not look like he had remembered. Dudley Dursley was still heavy, but he had lost quite a bit of weight, and the cruel, priggish expression that had remained perpetually in his eyes during their childhood was gone now. He was dressed nicely, as though he had somewhere important to be.

As Dudley stepped onto the walkway that lead through the perfectly manicured lawn, another stepped out of the house. She was still tall and thin and looked somewhat like a horse.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry mouthed, but the words were soft and did not carry on the wind. He crept closer, until he was close enough to hear their words.

"… know Mum."

"Of course, Dudley," Petunia agreed quickly to quell his annoyed tone. "Of course you know." She smiled, but it was forced and fake.

"I want to go back to Privet Drive," Dudley muttered, and his voice carried the same whining quality to it, the same tone of a spoiled brat used to getting everything he wanted.

Petunia sighed. "Maybe," she said, but her voice lacked any conviction in it. She looked away from him. "Have a good day at University."

Dudley huffed and rolled his eyes. Petunia ruffled his hair gently and turned to walked back into the house.

On a whim, Harry pulled of his invisibility cloak, appearing out of thin air in front of Dudley. To his credit, the other boy did not scream or start babbling hysterically like he would have in the past at a display of such magic. Instead he just stood there, jaw hanging open, eyes wide.

"Hullo, Dudley," he said, because it seemed like the only thing to say at the moment.

Dudley's mouth snapped shut and his eyes narrowed. "I wondered if you or any of your freak friends would show up here," he said. He walked briskly to the car parked in the driveway and pulled open the door. He paused, one hand resting on the door-handle, and lifted his eyes to Harry. "Did you want something?"

Harry blinked. Although Dudley had never been a sweet-tempered boy, the last time the two had seen each other, he had at least been civil to Harry. His change in attitude now was surprising, but then, Harry thought to himself, why would he have ever believed that Dudley's remorse at their last meeting was even genuine?

"I just… came to check on you," he faltered. He couldn't honestly say that he had any desire to see any of them right now, but something had driven him here. Standing in the town where his parents had died, he had felt a strange desire to make sure his only living blood relatives had survived the war unscathed.

"Hasn't the war been over for a few years now?" Dudley asked. "That's what the freak said when he came to tell us it was safe."

Harry blinked. "Who came? When?"

Dudley shrugged. "Tall guy. Wore a lot of black. Mum knew him. Called him something strange." He tossed his bag into the car and said in a softer voice, "It was a few months after Dad died."

Harry felt as though someone had thrown cold water over him. He stared, dumbfounded, at Dudley, but his cousin was too thick to notice the confused look. Instead, Dudley just shoved his bulky body into the car and slammed the door shut.

"Dudley," Harry called, and his cousin rolled down the window. "I'm… sorry."

For a moment, Dudley's face softened, and he looked as though he would say something. But he didn't. Instead, he backed the car out of the driveway and into the street. Harry watched him go until the car turned the corner at the far end and disappeared from view.

Harry stood on the lawn, staring out at nothing, his back turned to the house. He was so lost in his own thoughts he did not hear the front door open, or register Petunia's presence until he heard her voice.

"I wondered if we'd see you again. Rather hoped not."

Harry turned to look at her, really look at her. She was thinner than he remembered, and her face had a hollow quality to it. He took a few steps towards her. "Dudley just told me about… Uncle Vernon."

Petunia leaned against the doorframe of the house and regarded her nephew with disdain.

"Are you… I wanted to see how you were…" he trailed off.

"If you didn't know about Vernon before you came," Petunia asked in a crisp tone, "why did you come?"

Harry froze, unable to answer the question. He didn't have a reason for being here, and he tried to give a half-hearted shrug. Petunia continue to scrutinize him with a calculating glare, and he swallowed and looked down.

"How did Uncle Vernon die?" Harry asked, half-hoping it would be the answer he was expecting.

Petunia raised her eyebrows and said with little emotion, "One of you freaks."

Death Eaters. Harry swallowed and concentrated on keeping his churning emotions under control. Although Vernon's death did not cause as much grief or pain as the death of many others had, he still felt the same helpless guilt. He had brought this family into danger, and he hadn't even once thought they might not have all survived. But the Order had promised that the safe house would be safe, heavily warded, protected from evil.

"I never wanted you three to get hurt," Harry said finally, and that at least was something he could say and truly mean. "I really am… sorry."

Again, she gave him a long stare. "Not as sorry as we are," she snapped finally, tiny splotches of color appearing in her cheeks.

He realized he'd touched a nerve, somehow, and almost wanted to back away from what could have been a fight. But the anger that stilled welled so close to the surface these days refused to just let him accept her comment in silence.

"If he had cared for me, I might have cared for him," Harry said, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back.

Petunia just gave him a cold look. "Did you expect us to be grateful to have you?" she sneered. "You weren't wanted here." And he still wasn't wanted.

But not for any reasons that he would ever understand. Watching him grow up in her house had been torture. All it did was remind her of the world she had once longed to be a part of, the world that had been given solely to Lily. Both her parents had doted on Lily, had loved how unique and special she was, and Petunia had desperately wanted that, had craved the attention and the praise. Watching Harry's accidental use of magic for those ten years, and it felt as though she had reverted back to her own childhood where she was forced to watch someone else receive everything she ever wanted.

"I know," Harry said. He turned away. "Goodbye, Aunt Petunia."

He heard her walk into the house and shut the door firmly behind her. Rubbing his eyes, he walked slowly back to the sidewalk. He hadn't expected to be greeted with open arms and happy welcomes, but somehow the angry look in Petunia's eyes had hurt him more than he would have liked to admit. It had never been a home, and calling it such would have been ridiculous. And yet…

Vague regrets still left him uneasy as he turned on the spot and Apparated away.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stared along the cobblestone path that twisted through Diagon Alley. It was a warm day in London, the sun shinning brightly, illuminating everything around him. Wizards and witches hurried about, running errands, browsing through shops, and meeting with their friends. In a world still reeling from the shock and horror of the war, the young Malfoy felt out-of-place.

The feeling was not abated by the occasional glares sent his way, or the fact that two shopkeepers had already asked him to please leave their establishment. He wasn't welcome here, and he knew it.

He took a few steps towards a side alley that lead away from the bright and cheerful air all around him. Down that side alley was another place, a place that contained another type of store. He would not be welcome there, either, he knew, because of the role his parents had played in defeating the Dark Lord. No, the proprietors of Knockturn Alley would not be eager to see him again.

"You don't really fit into either world, do you?" a voice asked softly.

Draco jumped slightly, then turned and faced the man who had appeared behind him. He recognized the young Mr. Yaxley due to the great resemblance he bore to his Death Eater uncle.

Draco let his hand fall casually to his pocket, where it tightened around his wand. "Hello, Yaxley," he greeted, his voice rough, his eyes cold.

"Too Dark to be Light, too Light to be Dark," Yaxley sneered. "Did you think you would ever be welcomed back again?" He looked around, and Draco followed his gaze, noting the way people skirted around him, avoiding him as though his very presence contaminated the air.

Draco forced himself to look back at Yaxley, to meet his gaze. "What do you want?" he hissed.

"Quite the temper," Yaxley mocked. He folded his arms over his chest, his wand dangling from between two of his fingers on his right hand. "I want to see if you are made of a different sort of stuff than either of your parents."

Draco swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. "I won't ever turn against them, if that is what you are asking."

Yaxley clicked his tongue impatiently and said, "They are the ones who turned against you, Mr.Malfoy, by dragging you away from the Dark Lord and his rightful place as ruler of our world. But you are a pure blood, and a powerful one at that. Perhaps… if you were still aligned with our cause…"

"I'm not," Malfoy said firmly, emphatically.

"Well, well, well… look who it is." Ernie Macmillan strode boldly forward, eyeing Draco with disgust. He slanted a look at Yaxley, his expression turning even more sour, and said, "I guess you still like hanging with your father's old crowd, Malfoy."

Draco pushed back the desire to hex the pompous boy and replied coolly, "You probably shouldn't go sticking your nose into other people's business, Macmillan. You might end up losing it."

Macmillan pulled out his wand in one swift movement, and Draco thought idly to himself that the pretentious Hufflepuff had grown up during the war. He now had the backbone to match his words.

"Is that a threat?"

Draco shook his head. "Of course not," he sneered. "I wouldn't waste time threatening you." He curled his lip and added, "You're not worth the effort."

"Careful what you say, Malfoy," Macmillan hissed back, "you aren't as powerful anymore. Daddy's not here to protect you."

Yaxely stepped forward, resting one hand on Draco's shoulder, raising his wand with the other. "Maybe not," he snarled, "but I am. Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, or I'll remove it for you."

A crowd was beginning to form, and a familiar redhead pushed his way to the front. George Weasley glanced at the two in front of him, and remarked in a biting tone, "Haven't turned your back on the Dark Arts, have you Malfoy? I knew everyone was a fool to trust you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know nothing," he said, pushing Yaxley's hand off of his shoulder. He did not want to be associated with that blood purist, although he knew that most everyone would forever see him as someone who wanted only to advance his own cause.

Weasley smirked, and drew his wand. "I know you would have been better off dead," he said viciously.

"Sorry, that particular honor had to go to your pathetic twin," Draco retorted hotly.

"How dare you?" Weasley spat, his face twisting in rage. "Did you have a hand in it, Malfoy? Where you really working for Voldemort all along, coming up with ways to get my family killed?"

"Contrary to what you obviously believe," Draco answered, "I do not waste any time thinking about you or your insipid family. Not that I don't rejoice over the fact that the world is finally spared having to deal with at least one of you…"

The curse left Weasley's wand before Draco could completely register what was happening, but Yaxley raised a shield to deflect the attack.

"Enough," a voice bellowed, and several wizards appeared, each wearing the distinctive Auror robes. In the chaos that followed their arrival, Draco felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, and he was pulled away.

Away from the mob, Draco yanked himself out of Yaxley's grasp. "I told you," he said angrily, "I'm not interested in your cause."

"I wonder how much more of this you can take," Yaxley mused, his voice harsh and grating. "How long will you have to be an outsider before you realize that there are merits to belonging somewhere?"

Draco glared defiantly at him and said, "I won't join you."

Yaxley shrugged. "Have it your way," he said. "But if you ever change your mind, the offer will remain open." And he was gone with a loud crack and a rush of wind.


	10. Crossroads

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Narcissa is threatened, Minerva McGonagall finds herself in an uncomfortable position, Snape makes a decision, and Hermione has an epiphany.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Nine: Crossroads

"I don't have anything to say to you," Narcissa Malfoy announced coldly, lifting her eyes to face the several Aurors in front of her. Inside, she was shaking with fear, understanding that the outcome of this meeting could spell disaster for the three people she cared about the most. But she refused to let that expression show on her face, and instead kept her expression haughty and calm.

"Really?" one of the Aurors asked. Narcissa didn't recognize him, and he didn't deign to introduce himself to her. Instead, he strode forward, arms crossed over his chest, and asked in a cold tone, "Even if the fate of your dear son hangs in the balance?"

"Don't you dare threaten my son," Narcissa hissed, her face contorted with fury. For a moment, her cold façade had crumpled, revealing the scared, yet still undeniably strong, mother underneath the surface. But then the mask was back up, and she merely flicked her gaze across the room to Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Unless you have any particular proof of Draco's misdeeds, you can't hurt him."

Kingsley waved one hand at the other Aurors, signaling for them to back off. They reluctantly moved away, and he walked forward. Eyeing Narcissa calculatingly, he answered, "We only want to talk, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa raised one eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edges of her lips. "You brought me _here_ just to _talk_?" she drawled, glancing around the room.

They were in the lowest level at the Ministry. She had not been dragged into one of the full chambers to be tried by the entire Wizengamot like some common criminal, but they had requested that she submit to their… conversation… in one of the smaller rooms used for investigations. It was empty, except for the table that separated her from the others, and the two chairs pushed back against the far wall; one for the investigator, one of the accused.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley said calmly, refusing to be goaded by her words, although he recognized the truth in her implied accusations, "allow me to be quite frank. The situation does not appear particularly hopeful for your son. He was seen consorting in Diagon Alley with Yaxley, and his cruel comments to Ernie Macmillan and George Weasley were overheard by a rather large crowd of witnesses."

Narcissa clenched her hands into tight fists, then let them relax. "Yaxley was not convicted of any crimes, nor has he been sent to Azkaban. You cannot claim that my son's fraternization with him is a crime." She hesitated, then added, "And I would wonder what harsh words Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Weasley threw at my son. From my understanding of the incident, my son did not instigate the argument."

Kingsley accepted this with a slow nod of his head. He needed to confront Narcissa on other matter as well, and those he did not wish to discuss in front of all the Aurors present. Turning to the others, he ordered briskly, "Leave us. I will continue this investigation myself."

His request was met with grumbles of dissent, but the other Aurors filed out of the room, leaving him alone. Turning back to Narcissa, he studied her once again, wondering what thoughts were passing behind those pale eyes of hers.

"I'm not a fool," Narcissa said softly. "I know that things do not look good for Draco. And I understand and accept any responsibility that my husband and I bear for turning society's opinion against us. But Draco has broken no laws as of yet, and I refuse to let you use him as a means of getting to me and Lucius."

Kinglsey walked over to the wall and pulled one of the chairs to the table. He gestured for Narcissa to sit down, which she did reluctantly. Then he carried the other chair over to the opposite side of the table and settled into it across from the blonde witch.

"Quite frankly," he said, placing his hands on the table and leaning back in his chair, "you and your husband are not the ultimate target here."

"I-I don't understand," Narcissa faltered, momentarily thrown by Kingsley's words.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley continued calmly, watching her intently, "there have been allegations that you and your husband know the whereabouts of Severus Snape."

He saw it then, the telltale flicker of fear that flashed through her eyes, and he felt his heart sink. It was so quick that anyone else might have missed it, or not been able to correctly interpret its meaning. But he knew, and as he stared at Narcissa, he felt the disappointment grow.

She knew where Snape was.

He had wanted to believe that she and her husband had changed. He had wanted to believe that Draco was now on the side of Light. He had wanted to believe that this family had taken advantage of their second chance and learned from their past mistakes.

He looked away. Slowly, he said, "Mrs. Malfoy, I understand that Snape protected your son and kept him safe from Lord Voldemort," he noted the way she twitched involuntarily at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, "and you might feel some loyalty to him."

Narcissa picked her words carefully as she answered, "I do not hold any loyalty to any person who has betrayed the side of Light."

Kingsley shook his head. "Snape has killed people. He betrayed us. He was to become Lord Voldemort's right-hand man. He deserves justice, and as long as you continue to shield him, I have no choice but to assume that you are working against us as well." He sounded truly regretful as he said the words, as though he didn't quite want to believe any of it.

Narcissa hesitated again, thinking cautiously about her choices now. Could she continue to protect her friend even at the cost of her own life? She bit her lip, but knew inside that she would have sacrificed her life if it had meant keeping Snape safe as she knew that he would have done the same for her.

But would she sacrifice Draco?

She looked down at the table. She needed time, time to think, time to talk to Snape.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Kingsley prompted.

Narcissa looked up at him, and replied in a calm and collected voice, "You don't have proof." Kingsley began to protest, but she lifted a hand to stall him. "I know you do not have proof, Auror Shacklebolt. If you did, you would have already arrested myself, my husband, and my son. Since you do not have this proof, but merely your own conjectures, you do not have the authority to keep me here against my will. I would like to leave now."

She rose, and Kingsley did the same. Before she could leave the room, however, he reached out and caught her arm, his grip tightening around her slender wrist.

"We will find proof," he said firmly, confidently. "I put all my cards on the table and gave you a chance to do the right thing, Mrs. Malfoy. If you walk away now, you will not be shown mercy when we have proof of your betrayal."

She pulled her arm out of his grip and raised her eyes to meet his. Defiantly, she answered, "I never asked for your mercy before, Auror, and I certainly will not beg for it now." And without another word, she strode from the room.

* * *

The man who now looked like Severus Snape stood in front of the mirror, rather pleased by his appearance. When Hannigan had taken the hairs from Snape's head at their last confrontation, he had not thought up the perfect use for them. But Runcorn always had Polyjuice Potion stored in his home, just in case, and Yaxley was never one to shy away from a risk.

Especially when the rewards were so high.

So Yaxley, wearing Snape's face, gave himself one last triumphant smile, then turned on the spot and Apparated from the room.

He reappeared in the alley between two buildings at the outskirts of Hogsmeade. A fine mist lay over everything, remnants of last nights pouring rain. But the sun was shinning now, a glowing yellow orb in the bright blue sky, and the small village was filled with the noise of people enjoying one of England's rare beautiful days.

He waited patiently, his eyes fixed on the path that lead from Hogwarts down to the village. His quarry would come walking down it soon enough, unaware of the danger that loomed in the shadows.

He wasn't really sure what the result of his conversation with Draco Malfoy would be. It was unlikely that the boy would join his side, although if the rest of society continued to act against the Malfoys in the same manner as those who had been at Diagon Alley, it was quite conceivable that they would push Draco far enough away that he would have no choice but to turn to his father's old companions.

Either way, his meeting with Draco had increased the public distrust of the Malfoy family, and he certainly could not say he was displeased with that. Narcissa's actions had saved Potter's life and brought about the downfall of the Dark Lord, and he wanted to see her suffer. Preferably for a very long time, wasting away in Azkaban until the despair finally drove her insane.

Something shifted in the distance, and he picked out a figure walking along the path, getting closer with every passing minute. He smiled with anticipation, and withdrew his wand from his pocket.

Soon, Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of him, then passing him by on the path, unaware of his presence. He crept forward, watching as she waved hello to a few other witches and wizards who were out enjoying the day. Then, once he was sure that she had been seen by enough people to attract attention, he stepped fully out into the light.

Several people gasped. A few screamed. And he stunned Professor McGonagall with a well-aimed spell before she even had a chance to turn around. Then he walked forward, sizing her by the arm, and looked up at the others who were racing towards him, shouting in fear and panic.

Then he disappeared, taking McGonagall with him.

They reappeared in the sitting room of his home, and he quickly removed McGonagall's wand and bound her tightly with ropes. She was still unconscious, for which he was grateful, but he took the added precaution of casting a silencing charm on her in case she should wake up and call for help.

The door behind him swung open and Runcorn marched into the room, his wand held out in front of him. He eyed Yaxley, then said coldly, "I presume you are not the real Snape?"

Yaxley glanced down and realized that Runcorn was holding a half-filled vial of Polyjuice Potion in his other hand. "So I borrowed some of your potion. Who cares?" He gestured towards McGonagall. "I needed it for the next stage in our plan."

Runcorn didn't answer right away. Then he asked in a suspicious tone, "What was the last thing I said to you this morning before you left my home?"

Yaxley shook his head and smiled. "I didn't speak to you this morning," he replied, correctly answering the question and allaying Runcorn's suspicions; he was the real Yaxley. "I simply borrowed some of the potion and left."

Runcorn pocketed his wand and frowned at the Headmistress' still body. "Kidnapping her wasn't part of the plan," he said, confused. Again, he gave Yaxley a suspicious stare. "What are you trying to pull?"

"You said we had to move up our timetables," Yaxley answered. "Hannigan is getting nervous, he could back out at any second, and Snape isn't going to just turn himself in."

"And how is this going to help anything?" Runcorn demanded, frowning.

"Plenty of people saw me… or should I say, saw Snape… stun her and kidnap her. It will get out about what he has done, and the real Snape will become concerned. We're forcing his hand, pushing him out of hiding."

"Assuming he comes for her," Runcorn countered, still hesitant about this new development in the plan. "What makes you think he would risk his life for her, anyway?"

"Call it intuition," Yaxley answered with a shrug. "I just know." He didn't elaborate, and for once Runcorn didn't push for details. He wasn't even sure he could explain it anyway. Like a few of the Death Eater sympathizers still alive, he knew that Snape had betrayed them in the end. And although he didn't know the exact reason why, he had to believe that it was because of some sense of loyalty to something. Minerva McGonagall had been a steady presence in Snape's life since he was eleven-years-old, and Yaxley remembered the way Snape had protected her during the final battle, casting shield charms around her before he disappeared from the fight. There were a very few people in the world Snape would save, but Yaxley was pretty sure that she was one of them.

"What do we do about Hannigan?" Runcorn asked, switching subjects. "He is becoming a liability."

"We need him for now," Yaxley replied, "but we can dispose of him later."

Runcorn pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "Have you heard of Abbott's new idea?"

Yaxley gave a bark of harsh laughter. "Removing Slytherin's from their families to ensure they aren't corrupted by our morals?" If the proposal didn't have so much popularity right now, it would have been downright laughable. But unfortunately, Abbott was gaining support, and his ideas would not be easily forgotten by those who still thirsted for revenge against the Death Eaters.

"Once our plan is complete, Abbott and those like him won't be a problem," Runcorn murmured, and Yaxley nodded in agreement. The older man looked at his younger coconspirator and added, "You should probably find somewhere to hide for a while until you look like yourself again."

Yaxley touched his face, feeling Snape's pale skin and greasy hair. "Right," he agreed, and walked out of the room.

* * *

It didn't take long for news of Professor McGonagall's kidnapping to spread through the wizarding world. Within only a few hours, it seemed as though every single household was filled with hushed whispers and worried remarks, and a sense of fear permeated the air. They had all believed they were safe, and somehow this one act had reminded them all that the world was still a dangerous place, and there were still criminals loose in the country.

And only a few hours after that, Narcissa found herself sitting at the kitchen table in Snape's miserable excuse for a home, searching her memory to provide him with every single detail she had heard of the Headmistress' capture.

"So, I take it you didn't actually kidnap her?" Narcissa ventured, trying to break the grim silence that had fallen as Snape brooded to himself.

Snape sent her a quelling glare, and she looked down at the table and sighed. She knew at this point there was little she could say or do to coax her friend out of his sour mood, but she wished that she could somehow help.

Then she thought of Shacklebolt's and his threat, of her son's safety and very life, and wondered how much further she was willing to go before the gains no longer outweighed the risks.

She'd informed Snape of Shacklebolt's statements as well, knowing that he needed to know exactly what was being said about him. He had taken it all in silence, although he did appear worried. But after she had supplied him with a full recounting of the incident, he did not press her for questions, and it was almost as though he had forgotten about it entirely.

Finally, Snape looked at her again, his beady black eyes staring directly into her own. He didn't have to say anything, she could see from the look on his face what he wanted to do.

"Severus, please… think about what this would mean for you," she said softly. "You can't get the Headmistress back on your own. You don't even know where she is!"

"Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley are behind this," he said, rising to his feet with one fluid motion. "I know that much."

"And what are you going to do?" Narcissa replied. "Rush into their homes, wand out and ready to attack? Be reasonable, it is three against one, you would never win. Besides, they want you exposed so they can capture you and turn you over to the Aurors."

"I know," Snape said.

"If you go, it will be suicide," Narcissa pressed, willing him to understand and agree. She couldn't let him just risk his life, not when so much was at stake.

"I know," Snape said again.

"Severus…"

"I_know_!" Snape hissed, cutting her off before she could speak. "Don't you think I know all this? Do you really believe you can tell me anything that I could not come up with on my own? I may rely on you for many things, Narcissa, but the ability to think for myself is not one of them."

Narcissa flinched, as though his harsh words had physically hurt her. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, inching away from Snape. She didn't like the desperate look in his eyes or the way he seemed to continually look around the kitchen as though searching for answers among the dishes and the tea kettle.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and crossed the room to the counter. Carefully placing the wand at the edge of his forehead, he pulled a single silver strand from his mind and deposited it carefully within a newly cleaned vial. He closed the vial, placing a stopper tightly on it, and turned back to Narcissa.

"I need to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Alone."

"He's an Auror," Narcissa countered, "and a very good one at that. He might just kill you on sight."

"He won't," Snape countered, holding the vial out to Narcissa, "because you are going to give him this first. And then you will arrange the meeting for me."

She took the memory in her hand and nodded, still unsure, but unwilling to openly disagree with him. "I hope you know what you're doing, Severus," she said finally, and as she Disapparated away, she thought she heard his lingering whisper…

"Me, too."

* * *

For Hermione Granger, there were certain things that were always supposed to be true. Perseverance and studying always paid off in the end. Everything worth knowing could be found either in a book or in one's own conscience. All creatures deserved the same just and fair treatment, and any abuse of power was inherently wrong.

And, of course, for six years, she had always believed that Dumbledore was infallible. It was, she now realized, just the naïve yearnings of a child who wanted to know that adults would always protect her. Nobody was perfect, least of all this great wizard. He had done many wonderful things, and many horrible ones, and she had eventually been forced to face that truth.

She still believed that he was a good person at heart, and that he had good aims, regardless of what Rita Skeeter published about his twisted morals. And he had made mistakes, but people deserved second chances, and in the fight against Voldemort, he had been instrumental.

Harry had let go of most of his anger against Dumbledore, but the occasional outburst served to remind her that some wounds run to deep to completely heal. She had heard Harry mutter that Dumbledore never seemed to care about anything besides defeating Voldemort, and was willing to use anything and anyone to gain that advantage. He didn't see the bigger picture.

She wondered, sometimes, what exactly that bigger picture was. Could anyone really claim that there was anything in the world more important than defeating the most evil wizard that ever lived?

On the other hand, did that make Dumbledore any different from Voldemort, who was also willing to use people to achieve his own ends? Did it matter that the ends were radically different? Do the ends justify the means?

Or, on the flipside, can you justify doing nothing while a madman takes over the world by saying that any action you take would ultimately hurt someone? People get hurt all the time, and every day during that way another person would die or go missing or get tortured. Wasn't it worth it to put an end to all that, no matter the cost?

Dumbledore had used Harry, in a way. Of course, Harry had also wanted to bring about Voldemort's fall, and was it really using someone if both endgames were the same?

And, in addition, was Dumbledore so wrong to keep Harry in the dark about some of the things he had planned? Harry had hardly shown himself to have the best judgment during those first six years at Hogwarts, and his temper too often kept him from seeing the future consequences of his actions. He was just a child at the time. They were all just children at the time, and yet somehow so convinced that they knew what was best.

It was thoughts like these that fluttered around in her brain, making her rethink and question and doubt everything that she had once so fervently believed. She wondered, quite frequently, had she been wrong about Dumbledore? And if she had been wrong about him, what else could she be wrong about?

What if books weren't as important as she had always claimed?

She was sitting on the sofa in Ron's apartment, wondering just what to say to Harry and how to confront him about his irresponsible behavior, when all these thoughts began to fill her mind. And try as she might, she couldn't push them away. Things were vastly more complicated than they seemed, and that was a lesson that held true for most things in life.

So before she began a long-winded lecture to Harry about the stupidity of his actions, she decided to stop and really think about the best approach to take in this.

Which left Harry and Ron, who were both sitting on the chairs across from her, to stare at her with a sort of wonderment in their eyes. Usually, she would have been talking by now. In fact, she would have been halfway through her lecture had she started when she had first opened her mouth.

"Uh… Hermione?" Ron prompted. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Ginny had stopped by to speak to Hermione, and she had heard from the younger girl about Harry's trip to his parents' graves. She and Ron had then agreed to confront Harry together, and speak to him first before one of the many adults in his life, most likely Mrs. Weasley, began to fuss over him and demand to know what he had been thinking by behaving so rashly. And Ron had rightly assumed that she would be the first to speak, yet here she was, breaking the pattern by remaining silent.

She made a mental list of everything she would have wanted to say to Harry. After careful review, she determined that it was all things he could come up with on his own, if he really stopped to think about his actions.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head. "I guess I really don't."

Harry gaped. Ron opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. Harry tilted his head to the side, examining Hermione cautiously. Ron shook his head in bewilderment.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked at last, completely thrown by her refusal to lecture him.

"I could tell you that you were foolish and reckless and stupid," Hermione answered, "but I'm thinking you know that already. And I'm also going to guess that everything is a bit more complicated than it seems right now, and you have a lot to deal with. I think maybe it is best if you take the time to figure out what you truly want before the rest of us tell you what we think you should want."

It was strange for her to say, so completely out of character that she felt almost giddy as the words left her mouth. But Harry had spent so much time having other people think for him, and maybe now it was time he did something on his own.

She stood up. "Good night," she said, then walked out of the room.

Ron and Harry watched her go in silence.


	11. The Calm Before the Storm

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: I know, this is so incredibly late, and I am really, really sorry. I just had so much other stuff going on, I actually forgot about the story. It won't happen again, I promise.

Summary: Kingsley receives a clue, Harry says goodbye, and Narcissa and Lucius argue about her decision.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Ten: The Calm Before the Storm

Kingsley stared at the vial on his desk. He had been surprised when Narcissa Malfoy had shown up and shoved the thing under his nose, but her explanation of its origins had left him even more unsettled. The idea that he actually held, in his possession, a memory of Severus Snape was both elating and disturbing.

The potions Master was a brilliant man, far too intelligent, far too powerful, to do anything that would put him in danger. He appeared, also, to enjoy taunting the Aurors, for why else would he try to make contact with them now?

Kingsley sank into the chair behind his desk, groaning. Mrs. Malfoy had opened herself up to quite a bit of danger with this one action. He now had proof that she had been in contact with Snape. And although she had informed him that Snape had merely shown up and requested that she pass along this vial, and although she had emphasized that she did not know where the traitor was hiding, it was still cause enough for suspicion. And perhaps enough suspicion to warrant an arrest of the Malfoys, to demand that they undergo a truth potion.

But why would anyone as cunning as a Malfoy leave themselves open to such dangers?

What memory was stored in that vial? And did Kingsley even want to see it, or was it too dangerous to do so? Could it be some sort of trap?

But it would have to be a very elaborate trap.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kingsley summoned a pensieve. He uncorked the bottle and tilted the silvery almost-liquid into the basin. Placing his hands on either side of the basin, he leaned forward, letting himself fall into the memory.

_When the world around him reformed, Kingsley found himself standing in the Headmaster's office. Snape was sitting behind the desk, and Dumbledore's portrait on the wall was watching him with a concerned gaze._

"_I am worried about the Carrows," Dumbledore said finally, leaning forward in his frame. "They are violent, and the students are in grave danger."_

_Snape frowned, lifting his eyes to Dumbledore. "There is nothing I can do that I have not already done," he said sourly. "I cannot risk incurring the Dark Lord's displeasure… or suspicion."_

"_Of course," the portrait replied, but still he appeared unsure about something. _

_A moment of silence passed, then Snape shoved the chair backwards and rose to his feet. "If you have any suggestions for me, Dumbledore, I am listening," he snarled._

_The portrait shook its head. "I know you are doing your best," he said. "I ask nothing more from you."_

_Snape appeared to be refraining from rolling his eyes with great difficulty. He rose to his feet and faced Dumbledore's portrait completely. "But you want more."_

"_All I asked of you was to protect the students and professors, and to do it to the best of your abilities," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I do not ask for more."_

"_Indeed," Snape hissed, "you've already asked for quite enough, haven't you?" Then he let out a sigh, half-frustrated, half-resigned. "You know I will do everything in my power to protect the students… and every… legitimate… professor. As I have always done."_

"_I know," the portrait answered quickly. Then there was a pause, before Dumbledore added, "I trust you."_

A moment later, Kingsley felt himself flying upwards, and his office materialized around him. He fell slowly into a seat, staring at the silver, trying to understand what had happened. What had he seen? How could Dumbledore trust Snape, even after he had been murdered by the man?

After the war had ended, many people had called for him to become the next Minister of Magic. In fact, there was a growing movement that wanted him made Minister for life. And although he was quite sure he would be better at the job than the more recent string of wizards, he had also been reluctant to accept the position. Yes, he was a war hero. Yes, he had experience in many areas that could help him. But he still firmly believed he could do more good as an Auror than he ever could as Minister. He simply was not cut out to be the person who had to make the tough decisions required when running a country.

So the job had gone to Amos Diggory, who was much better at it anyway.

But now… his job had suddenly become quite a bit more complicated. Politics entered into everything where Snape was concerned, and there was a lot of outside pressure to catch the traitor, and quickly. He had to think over his choices, and carefully.

But, he knew, there were only two people with the answers to this, and one of them was dead. He could go to Dumbledore's portrait, and maybe later he would, but not right now. Narcissa had said that Snape wanted to meet with him, and with that thought in mind, he clasped his hand tightly around his wand and left the office.

* * *

The Head of the Auror Training Program peered over the tops of his square spectacles and gave the boy before him a searching look. He was ill-pleased, that much was obvious from his expression. But there was something else in his eyes, something that was not quite readable, as though he hadn't made up his mind about some decision.

Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot, waiting for the other man to speak. He refrained from running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had picked up during his studies here. Instead, he bit his bottom lip hesitantly, and remained silent.

"So you wish to retake the final examinations at a later date, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, his voice firm as he spoke. He knew better than to show any signs of doubt in front of this man, because doubt would be interpreted as a sign of weakness.

"We do not usually make that sort of exception, Mr. Potter. Not even for celebrities." The older man turned his back for a moment, crossing the room to his desk. He shifted through the pile of parchments, searching for something. Finally, he lifted a thin sheaf of paper and unrolled it. "You have done well in all your classes, Mr. Potter. Very well. Why do you wish to delay the examinations?"

"I have something I need to do, sir,' Harry answered honestly. "I… I need to finish something I started a long time ago."

"Hm…" The other man gave a knowing look. "Kingsley Shacklebolt mentioned to me that you had expressed quite a bit of interest in Severus Snape as of late."

Harry flushed. Then, strangely, he thought of Luna, of the words she had uttered to him after he had unintentionally attacked Malfoy. "A friend of mine," he said slowly, "told me that I don't always think. And I don't, I know that. I… am reckless."

"Very true," the Head Auror agreed, a slight quirk pulling at his lips. Although the young celebrity had done quite well in all his courses, his tendency to act first and think later had worried him for a while now. Potter did not know how to follow orders, and a good Auror had to know when to defer command to someone else.

"I guess… I never really got over what happened." Harry paused, wishing he could put this into words in a more coherent way. Hermione was always good at this sort of thing, but he knew better than to approach her with favors right now. After their conversation with Ron, she'd returned to Edinburgh and most likely would not be joining them again for a while.

This was, he knew, something he needed to figure out on his own.

"With Severus Snape?" the Head Auror prompted.

Harry nodded. "I… He betrayed my parents, lead them to their deaths. And Dumbledore, Sirius…" Again, the same hesitant pause as he carefully chose his words. "I need to end this before I can move on."

The other man sighed. Harry Potter had grown during the training, that much was obvious. He had matured, and was now able to see all the shades of gray he had missed before. But he was still angry, so angry. His fury gave him power, but it was uncontrollable and an Auror had to have control over his emotions.

"Very well," he replied finally, giving his approval to Potter's plan. "But before you go, Potter, I must warn you… if you think bringing Snape to justice will give you any sense of closure, you are sorely mistaken. The type of closure you are looking for comes from within, and you must come to terms with that."

* * *

Andromeda Tonks watched as her young grandson played happily with the blocks on the floor. His hair, a bright red that continually morphed into darker shades of maroon and sometimes blue, fell over his eyes. It was longer than she would have liked, but every time she tried to cut it, he would simply grow it out again.

"He enjoyed his visit to the Weasleys'," Andromeda said, turning to face her grandson's godfather.

Harry, perched on the edge of an armchair, nodded. "Mrs. Weasley always spoils him, but Fleur says his company is good for her daughter."

"I am glad he has you for a godfather," Andromeda confessed, "and the entire Weasley family for friends. He'll need those, growing up."

"I know," Harry agreed. He remembered what it was like to be completely alone, to have no one to talk to, no one to turn to. He had been a stranger in his own home for a decade, and it had been a miserable experience.

Still, he thought of his uncle… Vernon's death was not something he would have wanted, no matter how much he disliked them. And he was truly sorry for the toll the war had taken on that family.

"So, what brings you here, Harry?" Andromeda asked. Although he frequently stopped by to visit little Teddy, it was clear that this time he was here for something else, and she could not help but be curious as to what it was.

"Actually… I wanted to tell you that I am taking a holiday," Harry explained. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, and I wanted to say goodbye to Teddy before I left."

"Where are you going?" Andromeda asked.

"I need to tie up a few loose ends," Harry replied casually. He stood and walked over to Teddy, kneeling down on the floor and picking up one of the blocks in his hand. He stacked it on top of a few others, and Teddy promptly knocked the entire thing over and let it crash to the ground. The little boy began to laugh in delight, and Harry found himself smiling as well.

"Loose ends?" Andromeda prompted.

Harry faltered. "Remus would have wanted…" he began, but then stopped at the look that crossed Andromeda's face. The loss of her son-in-law was only magnified by the loss of her husband and daughter, and the pain in her eyes was proof that some wounds run to deep to heal.

"My son-in-law would never have wanted vengeance," Andromeda said mildly, filling the empty silence with her words.

"I was thinking… more along the lines of justice," Harry answered calmly.

Teddy, annoyed at being ignored, grabbed a block and shoved it at Harry, catching him in the elbow. Harry winced in pain and barely managed to refrain from cursing, something he could not do in front of the young child. Instead, he took the block in his hands and held it, a contemplative expression on his face.

Unlike everyone else he had spoken to, Andromeda did not try to talk him out of the plan or make him feel guilty for it. Instead, she just shrugged and said, "Whatever you think is best."

Harry nodded, unnerved by her calm acceptance. Still, it was one less person he had to argue with, one less person who would probably think he was wrong.

"I suppose he does deserve justice. I never expected him to go that Dark." Andromeda shrugged and turned towards the kitchen where the tea kettle was now whistling. "Your mother must not have, either," she added as she left the room.

Harry's head snapped up at that comment, and he watched her retreating figure with surprise. When she entered the room again, carrying a tray of biscuits and two cups of tea, he could barely hold back the urge to rush to her side and demand an explanation.

Instead, he asked quietly, "What does my mother have to do with it?"

"Well, she was friends with him," Andromeda replied, "when they were younger." She placed the tray on the small table by the chairs and took a seat.

"But he was in Slytherin!" Harry protested, shaking his head angrily. He rose, and took the seat across from her, gratefully accepting her offer of tea.

Andromeda gave him a hard look, her brown eyes narrowing slightly. "So was I," she rebuked, and Harry felt himself blush hotly. He looked away quickly, embarrassed by him comment, but her earlier words still rang in his head.

"How could they have been friends?" he asked finally.

"Oh, didn't you know? Your mother and your aunt grew up near Spinner's End, same place that he grew up," Andromeda answered. She paused thoughtfully, surprised by Harry's ignorance on the subject. "I'm surprised Remus and Sirius never told you any of this. But he and Lily were good friends for the first few years. Really good friends."

"What happened?" Harry asked, awed despite himself.

"They had a falling out, probably," Andromeda replied, scrunching her nose slightly as she tried to remember. "I am seven years older, you know, so I left Hogwarts just as your parents were coming in. But Narcissa was there for a few years at the same time, and I remember her talking about it. She said he… Snape… was a disgrace to Slytherin." She paused, it was the first time during the conversation she'd said the potion Master's name aloud. Then, after a moment, she added quietly, "Then again, so was I."

"She was the one who was the disgrace," Harry offered, trying to make up for his earlier comment.

Andromeda shrugged. People said that once someone was drawn to the Dark Arts, nothing else mattered. But Andromeda had not been drawn to them, and she knew that, Dark or not, Narcissa was still her sister.

"I guess she changed her mind at some point, though," Andromeda pointed out, "because she trusted Snape later on." Trusted him enough to protect her son… and kill Dumbledore in the process. But she shook her head and forced that thought aside. "Anyway," she said, changing back to the earlier subject, "your mother probably just realized at some point that Snape was going Dark, so she stopped being friends with him. The Dark Arts do have a dangerous pull."

Harry let out a slow breath. "They were friends, and he killed her," he whispered, horror-struck.

"Have you heard the rumors?" Andromeda asked. "They say he just kidnapped Minerva McGonagall."

"I heard," Harry replied, anger glinting in his eyes. "Kingsley and some other Aurors are looking for her."

"I'm surprised you have not join in the hunt," Andromeda confessed.

Harry shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. "I am going to," he admitted. "I just… needed to say goodbye to some people first." He looked across at Teddy who was watching the conversation with wide eyes. "I don't want to just disappear, you know?"

"Yes," Andromeda agreed, "I know."

* * *

The last person he saw was Ginny. He simply could not face Mrs. Weasley right now, and endure her continued pleas to abandon his quest. He didn't even need to speak to her, he knew exactly what she would say. He could only hope that Ginny would consent to inform her mother of where Harry had gone once he left.

Ginny was sitting on the edge of her bed in the flat she shared with Luna. She was staring at a letter held tightly in her hands. She was clearly displeased about something, and her fingers dug into the parchment, almost tearing it.

She looked up as Harry entered and offered a smile. Tossing the parchment aside, she rose to greet him with a hug and a quick kiss.

Harry, however, glanced at the discarded letter, openly curious.

Ginny sighed. "It's a letter from the Head Healer at St. Mungo's," she replied. "You know that I applied to shadow a Healer there, right?"

"Yes," Harry answered, puzzled. "I thought you were already accepted." He could not help being proud of her, knowing that only a very few Healer Trainees were awarded this position. But the smile that would have normally graced his face was absent as he observed her annoyed expression.

"I was. They've assigned me to a Healer already."

"So?"

Ginny shrugged and sat back down on her bed. "It's Penelope Clearwater."

Harry blinked a moment, then said, "Isn't that the girl that Percy was snogging when you walked in on him during my second year?"

Ginny grinned, remembering the mortified expression on Percy's face as his little sister caught him in a compromising position. "Yes, that's the one," she agreed. Then she sobered and explained, "Dad says that they're still going together."

"Penelope and Percy?"

"Yeah."

"But…" Harry hesitated, a frown wrinkling his forehead. He had never really paid attention to Percy's social life, but that was no reason to assume that the other Weasley boy did not have one. "So, you're going to be shadowing Percy's girlfriend?"

Ginny nodded glumly.

"Why is that a bad thing?"

Ginny shrugged. She wasn't entirely sure what the reason was. Part of it, she knew, was that she had always imagined that anyone Percy dated would be just as much a prat as he was. Would she look down on Ginny because of her lack of money? It seemed unlikely, given that she was dating Percy, but then hadn't Percy looked down on them all for the very same reason?

But another part of her reluctance had to do with the fact that she didn't know her brother anymore, and now she would be spending the summer with someone who probably knew her brother inside and out. It made her feel awkward and just a little out of place.

But she pushed those thoughts out of her head and focused on her boyfriend instead. "So… what's going on?"

Harry hesitated, then said, "I'm going away for a little while."

She stared at him with that hard look in her eyes, and said simply, "You're going after Snape."

There was no point in denying it. He was only relieved that she hadn't made him spell it out. "Yes," he said simply. What else was there to say?

"How long?"

Harry sighed. "I don't really know. Until it is over, I guess." He gave a sheepish smile and added, "Can you tell your Mum for me?"

Ginny almost laughed outright at that. Instead, she just gave a knowing look and said, "She's going to be upset."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But I… I have to do this."

"Are you going alone?" Ginny questioned, pressing her hands flat against the bed.

"Probably," Harry replied. He knew, if necessary, Hermione would be at his side in a heartbeat. No matter what she thought of his ideas, she wouldn't leave him to walk into danger alone. Ron, too, would have come with him, but more and more he tended to stick by Hermione's side. So, at least for now, he was alone.

Ginny nodded. It hurt, somehow, that she had never broken into the Golden Trio. But now she wished that the three of them were all together again, wished that Ron and Hermione were going with him. Hermione, at least, would keep him from rushing into something without thinking it through first.

But it was his decision, and it was something he needed to do.

"Okay," she said. There was nothing else to say, really, so they sat side-by-side for a few moments, listening to the silence.

* * *

"You'd better know what you're doing, Narcissa," Lucius hissed as he adjusted the collar of his robes and checked his reflection in the mirror. "This is a dangerous game Snape is playing, and he's dragging us into it."

"He saved Draco," Narcissa countered furiously. "I won't turn on him now."

Lucius glanced at her for a moment, a disgusted look in his eyes. "I'm not asking you to turn on him," he said quietly. "I'm asking you to think… really think… if this is what is best for your family." He shot a quick look at the bedroom door. "For Draco."

"I know," Narcissa replied, annoyed. "I am thinking." She placed her hands on her hips. "I would not do anything that put Draco in danger."

"Our entire continued fraternization with Snape puts him in danger," Lucius countered. Narcissa opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand to forestall her comment. "Cissy," he said, using a nickname no one other than Bellatrix had used since they were in Hogwarts, "I am not telling you to turn your back on our friend. I won't do that. But you have to know that what you are doing… what we are doing… is putting us in danger. We already escaped the wrath of the Dark Lord and the Aurors. Will you send us to the Wizengamot now that we've just established our innocence?"

Innocence was perhaps not the best choice of word, which Narcissa knew perfectly well. They were guilty of many things. But she was not Bellatrix, she would not turn on her friends and family just to save her own skin.

"Are we in this together, Lucius?" she asked softly. "Are you still with me?"

Lucius gave an impatient huff, but nodded. "I am."


	12. The Subjectivity of Truth

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: People were divisive, it was their very nature to separate the world into _them_ and _us_, and wizards did it worst of all.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Eleven: The Subjectivity of Truth

Jonathon Abbott was not a remarkably brilliant, cunning, or courageous man. He had been sorted into Hufflepuff, he had long assumed, not because he was exceedingly loyal, but simply because he did not have any of the necessary traits for the other Houses. His daughter, Hannah, had followed him in that regard, and after the death of his wife, they had both gotten even quieter and more reserved.

Until the final battle. His daughter had risked her life, time and again, to fight You Know Who and his minions, and it was during those battles that Abbott realized he was a much stronger man than anyone, including himself, had given him credit for. If his daughter was going to fight so fiercely and so vehemently for what she believed in, he certainly was going to do his best to protect this world as well.

Which was how he had ended up in the Ministry. And it was why he had ended up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was not an Auror, but Kinglsey had needed someone to look a things from a more governmental point of view, and so he was the one who sorted through the laws and regulations that controlled all their lives.

And it was during his work here that he had come up with the idea of separating Slytherin children from their families for the duration of their schooling. It was a radical idea, and strongly opposed by the traditionally Slytherin families. That would make it difficult to get the legislation passed, of course, because these pureblood families tended to have more political sway than the rest of the society.

Of course, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? And this would effectively end the problem and prevent prejudice in the future. Slytherin children would no longer be exposed to the damaging notions of pureblood superiority preached by their families. Instead, they would learn to accept halfbloods and Muggle-borns as equals.

He stared down at the drafted legislation. He was supposed to meet with Kingsley about it now, and he had no doubt that soon the Minister would be getting involved as well. He was not concerned with either of their opinions, however, because even if they did not support his idea, there were plenty of others in the wizarding world who did, and he had no doubt that he could at least get his proposal heard.

He took the parchment, rolling it smoothly, and walked towards the door. The hallway was empty, and he was not disturbed as he strolled along towards Kingsley's office, his mind on other thoughts.

What did surprise him was that when he reached the office, he found it empty.

The door was open ever so slightly, as though Kingsley had left in a hurry and forgotten to latch it shut behind him. The desk was still piled with scattered papers and books, and a few broken quills. A stone pensive sat in the very center of the desk, but the memories that had been inside it were gone now, obviously removed by the user.

Abbott frowned. He stepped back into the hall just in time to see one of Kingsley's aides rushing by. "Collins," he called out, and the young man paused and turned around. "Where is Auror Shacklebolt?"

"I don't know, sir," Collins replied. "He left a few minutes ago, said he had something important to take care of." He thought about it a moment, then added, "But Mrs. Malfoy was here a little before that. Maybe it is related to their conversation?"

Abbott's eyes narrowed. "Thank you, Collins," he said. The aide nodded and walked away, and Abbott frowned at the empty room behind him.

"He's doing something about Snape," a voice said, and Ernie Macmillan stepped through a door that connected Kingsley's office to the other Aurors' offices and cubicles. Macmillan was a junior secretary to the department, and as such often took notes or did research for Kingsley.

He also had a habit of eavesdropping.

"Oh?" Abbott pressed, smiling. Macmillan had been friends with Hannah at Hogwarts, and the boy had some loyalty to him because of it. That loyalty had helped Abbott in the past two years, allowing him inside information about the workings of the department.

"Narcissa Malfoy claims to have been contacted by Snape. He wanted to set up a meeting with Auror Shacklebolt." Macmillan paused, letting the words sink in, then added, "I think Shacklebolt agreed to the meeting. That's where he is going now."

"Setting a trap for Snape?"

"Perhaps," Macmillan agreed with a nod. "But as far as I know, he's made no attempts to go after the Malfoys."

Abbott narrowed his eyes at the young man. "What? Why?"

Then again, did he really need to ask that question? Kingsley, like Dumbledore, espoused the value of second chances. He was one of the few people who truly wanted to believe that the Malfoys had changed their ways… as though scum like that were ever capable of changing. He was blinded by his compassionate nature, by his desire to see the good in everyone, and he'd most likely never prosecute Narcissa Malfoy.

Well, Abbott thought to himself, if Kingsley wasn't going to do anything about the Malfoys, then he was.

He strode past Macmillan into a larger room. Several Aurors were moving about through the various cubicles, talking to each other in serious tones. The closest Auror, a man called Baker, looked up at nodded his head briefly at Abbott.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Baker," Abbott replied. He gave Baker a thoughtful look, then said, "Come. I need you to arrest someone."

"Who?" Baker asked, summoning his traveling cloak and preparing to follow his superior into whatever situation lay ahead.

"Narcissa Malfoy."

* * *

Penelope Clearwater took a bite of her sandwich and gave Percy a long stare. He was sitting on the bench in the small park where they had agreed to meet for lunch, but instead of eating, he was staring off into the distance, obviously contemplating something.

"Perce?"

He looked at her, the serious expression replaced by a momentary smile. "I'm sorry, Pen. I'm probably not making very good company right now, am I?"

"What's on your mind?" she asked him.

He let out a slow breath. "Harry's decided to go after Snape instead of staying to finish his Auror exams." Penelope raised an eyebrow at him, and he explained, "Ginny told us."

"I see." The witch placed her sandwich on the brown bag next to her and intertwined her fingers, resting her hands in her lap. "Are Hermione and Ron going with him?"

"No, he's going alone," Percy replied.

"Oh."

Percy looked at her again, then shook his head. "You don't understand why this is upsetting."

It wasn't a question, but Penelope answered anyway. "No, I don't. I know Harry is practically part of your family now, but… Well, are you just concerned about him?"

"I'm concerned about all of us," Percy replied. "It's just… Harry has a way of… getting under my family's skin. And it seems like… when he goes off on these adventures… it's just that… Ron and Ginny… they get hurt, you know? And Mum worries the entire time. And…"

He couldn't really put it into words, how he felt about this. He knew his family loved Harry like he was another son. And, given his relationship with Ginny, he could very well become another son very soon. But it always seemed like he brought so much… pain, frustration, anger… everywhere he went. How many times had his recklessness gotten Ginny or Ron hurt? How many times had simply being associated with Harry put one of the Weasleys in danger? How many times had Percy's Mom stayed up at night, worried, driven to tears, panicked…

"But Ron, Ginny, and Hermione aren't going with him," Penelope pointed out. "They can't get hurt."

Percy nodded uneasily. "I know," he agreed, although he sounded far from convinced.

Penelope swallowed nervously, then said, "Percy… I have something I need to tell you. I… I meant to tell you this a little while ago, but then… something always seemed to interrupt our conversations."

"Are you alright?" Percy asked, instantly fearing the worst. "Is something wrong?"

She quickly shook his head. "It's nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

"A while ago, I accidentally overheard a conversation between two people at St. Mungos." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I think… well, they were talking…"

"Who was talking?" Percy interrupted.

"Two men. I didn't recognize them. I couldn't really see them clearly. And they were whispering… their voices were muffled." She glanced at Percy. "They were making plans to discredit Minister Diggory and… it sounded like they wanted to put someone else in charge of the Ministry." She closed her eyes, trying to recall as much of the conversation as possible. "They also mentioned something about catching Snape."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That was really all I heard. I… I don't know. I wanted to tell an Auror or something, but… I just didn't even know where to start. You know?"

Percy nodded gravely. "I'll tell my Dad, and he can tell Auror Shacklebolt," he offered.

"It might not be anything, though," Penelope was quick to qualify her story. "I didn't hear the entire conversation, I might have missed something important. It could… it's possible that this isn't anything to worry about."

"You're probably right," Percy agreed, saying the words only to reassure his girlfriend. "Still… I'll tell Dad. Then he can deal with it, and you don't have to worry anymore."

* * *

"Stupify!"

"Protego!"

Kingsley dodged to one side as his own stunning curse was sent back at him, rebounding off the shield the other man had managed to create. It was dark, and the two of them were standing in the Forbidden Forrest where Narcissa had arranged for the meeting to take place. Shadows partially covered Kingsley, giving him an eerie appearance. But the other man, standing in a small clearing, moonlight cascading over his tall and lanky body, narrowed black beady eyes and looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Is that the best you can do?" he sneered.

"Hello, Snape," Kingsley said coolly, taking a few steps forward, wand still held out in front of him.

Severus Snape glanced around. "No entourage," he said mockingly. "You're braver than I thought." He paused, then added, "Or just a complete idiot."

Kingsley shook his head. "I'm not afraid of you, Snape."

"Then you really are a fool," Snape replied.

"What do you want?" Kingsley said. "You're the one who asked for this meeting."

Snape hesitated. "Why did you come alone?" he asked finally, probingly.

Kingsley felt something in his mind, a foreign presence working its way through his thoughts. He had never been particularly good at Occlumency, but he had enough basic skill to recognize what Snape was doing. He waved his wand at the other wizard, sending a few sparks into the air. As expected, the sudden burst of light startled Snape, and he lost his concentration.

"Stay out of my head, Snape," Kingsley snarled.

"Hmm… anger. Be careful, people tend to lose control when their emotions get in the way," the potions Master goaded. "Take Potter, for example. He'll never be anything more than a second-rate wizard unless he can learn to…"

"Harry is a greater wizard than you will ever be!" Kingsley interrupted, his voice a low hiss. "He defeated Voldemort, didn't he?"

"That was mere luck," Snape countered. "He would have died long before if he hadn't had more intelligent and skilled friends to keep him alive."

Kingsley took a moment to calm himself. He couldn't afford to be blinded by rage, no matter how much he might wish to curse the man in front of him. He was here for a reason, and if there was any chance that Snape could save McGonagall, he was at least going to listen to the other man's words.

"I'm not here to discuss Harry Potter with you," Kingsley said finally. "Narcissa Malfoy told me that you were not responsible for Minerva McGonagall's kidnapping, and that you are being framed. Is this true?"

Snape nodded, once. "It is."

"And why exactly do you think I should believe you?"

"Well, you obviously believe me somewhat, or you wouldn't have bothered coming out here… alone." Snape gave Kingsley a thoughtful look as he spoke, then he corrected his earlier words. "No, that's not true. You don't trust me. But you care too much about Minerva to let any chance of saving her pass you by. That's why you're here… and that's why you came alone."

Kingsley found himself unnerved, both because Snape was able to read him so well, and also because the potions Master had used Minerva's first name as though they were friends.

"You wouldn't have shown yourself if there were others here," Kingsley pointed out. He wasn't stupid enough to think that Snape would be there, just waiting, as he marched in with an entire army. The traitor had not survived this long by being that reckless.

Snape inclined his head with a stiffly polite nod. "True," he conceded.

"In the memory I saw, Dumbledore… well, the portrait… he said he trusted you," Kingsley said finally. He held up the small jar filled to the brim with the silvery almost-liquid, Snape's memory floating around inside the glass. "Why?"

"We are not here to discuss that, are we?" Snape rejoined. "I can help you find Minerva before she's killed."

Kingsley folded his arms across his chest. "You told Dumbledore's portrait you would protect all the students and every legitimate professor at the school, as you have always done. What did that mean?"

"Enough," Snape hissed furiously. "This is not the topic of conversation."

"I want the truth," Kingsley replied. "I won't settle for anything less."

"Truth?" Snape asked, his voice lowering into a silky whisper. "Truth is only what a person makes of it. I killed Dumbledore. That's your truth. What else matters?"

Kingsley swallowed back his bitter retort. Truth was subjective, seen only through the eyes of the beholder. It could change from one person to another, could be different depending on the situation.

But he never thought he would be getting a lesson in philosophy from Snape.

"So why would someone frame you?" Kingsley asked finally. Snape was right about one thing. No matter what he had seen in that memory, Snape did kill Dumbledore and flee to Voldemort's ranks, and that was not something easily forgiven. But Minerva was still in danger…

Snape frowned, but answered, "That, I don't quite know. But I have a good idea who might be behind this."

"Oh?"

"Runcorn and Yaxely. Possibly Hannigan."

Kingsley fingered the wand still clutched tightly in one of his hands. He could feel the smooth wood running across his palm, and wondered if he could stun the other man with a silent spell. He was certainly a skilled Auror, and had been for years. But Snape was not a man to underestimate.

"Don't even think about it, Shacklebolt," Snape said quietly. Kingsley started, and the other man continued, "You might be good, but I'm better. I'll take you before you even have a chance to cast that spell."

Kingsley wasn't entirely sure that was true, but opted at the moment not to take any chances. Snape was proving to be a much more complicated man than he had anticipated, but perhaps he should have expected that.

"So… do you know where Minerva might be?"

Snape shook his head. "Not for certain, no."

"And you don't know why she would have been kidnapped, and you aren't entirely certain of who kidnapped her." Kingsley gave Snape a cool stare. "How exactly does this help me?"

"I can help you," Snape replied as though the answer was obvious. "If my suspicions are right, Yaxely and Runcorn will have done this to draw me out, to make me show myself. That they expect me to do that will buy us time, and the element of surprise."

Kingsley shook his head, staring past Snape towards the edge of the forest. In the distance, he could see the outlines of the castle, rising high above them all, outlined against the dark sky. He had been surprised when Snape had suggested meeting here, but assumed it was so he could enjoy some twisted pleasure at being so close to the place where he had killed Dumbledore and where Voldemort had made him Headmaster.

The problem was, Snape didn't really seem to have much to offer. Hunches and guesses wouldn't guarantee Minerva could be brought back to safety, and he couldn't risk working with Snape unless he had something show for it at the end.

To stall for time, he asked, "Why would Runcorn be out to get you when the two of you are working together?" He recalled when Snape had attacked at the Malfoy Manor, recalled the memory of Mr. Malfoy that had shown Snape admitting he was working for Runcorn, and that the two of them wanted the Elder Wand.

Snape gave a thin smile, and the realization dawned on Kingsley.

"That was a setup," he murmured. "You were just playing us. You've never been working with Runcorn, and were never after the Elder Wand."

"Hmm… but that doesn't mean Runcorn isn't after it," Snape said silkily, obviously enjoying the plain anger on Kingsley's face.

"But why would you go to all that trouble…?"

"To prove a point," Snape answered. "You called every Auror on duty over to the Malfoys, and that left Spinner's End unobserved long enough for me to meet Hannigan there and… explain… to him the consequences of interfering in his life."

Kingsley felt the heat rising in his face. The fact that they had been so predictable, that Snape could easily manipulate all of them, left him with an embarrassed and uneasy feeling. It also made him resolve the doubt in his mind. If Snape could so easily manipulate them when they were hunting him, how much easier would it be for the potions Master when Kingsley was actually working with him? No, this was not a good plan, and how could he have ever thought that Snape would honestly want to help him? It was probably just some elaborate plot for Snape's own gain.

And so he attacked without any warning.

Snape barely managed to raise a shield in time to protect himself, and the curse bounced off in the opposite direction. He countered with something of his own, and Kingsley felt a thin slice of pain as his palm slid open. He winced, but attacked back, two spells in quick succession, and was rewarded with the sight of one of them connecting with Snape's chest.

Snape stumbled, falling to his knees. His wand flew from his grasp, the force of Kingsley's spell knocking it clear from his hand. As he registered the loss of his wand, however, he felt his palm slide across something smooth and round. He looked down, and found his fingers resting on the tip of a ring he had not seen for several years, the ring that had caused the curse to spread through Dumbledore's hands and into the rest of his body. The ring that was a Horcrux, the ring that had contained a little bit of the Dark Lord's soul.

Slytherin's pendant.

He slid it automatically into his pocket at the same time spinning around to stare up at Kingsley. The Auror had advanced, wand out in front of him, eyes filled with a cold and calculating light. He hesitated, unsure of what to do, and Snape used that moment to call his wand to him.

Kingsley, seeing the movement, tried to attack, but Snape had already caught the wand and used his magic to push himself away from Kingsley… and straight up into the air. Kingsley fired another curse, but he easily moved to the side, skimming through the air like an insect on the surface of a pond.

He brought himself to land across from Kingsley, wand still held out in front of him, prepared to attack. The two stared at each other for a moment, as though sizing up the opponent. The fight had pushed them deeper into the Forest, however, and now they were at the edge of the school boundaries, far enough away from the castle that they could each Apparate to safety if they so chose.

Kingsley registered this briefly, but continued to fight anyway, flinging another curse at Snape with a fury and anger he did not know he possessed. Snape countered, once again, and they circled each other cautiously.

"You can't win against me," Snape said finally, his voice a strained hiss. "Don't be a fool."

"I'm not," Kingsley replied, waving his wand. A flash of red light illuminated the area around them, casting eerie shadows along the ground. "You're the fool if you really think you can escape justice forever."

Snape seemed even more livid at that comment, and he sent several successive curses at Kingsley. The Auror was sure that at least two or three of them were Dark Curses, but he couldn't quite be sure as Snape wasn't saying the words aloud.

"Justice does not exist," the potions Master answered finally. The force of his attack had put Kingsley on the defensive, and allowed him the upper hand. As the Auror finally lost his grip on his wand, the thin piece of wood fumbling from his fingertips and falling to the grassy floor, Snape cast one last spell with unerring accuracy, and Kingsley fell to the ground, stunned.

The potions Master paused for a moment, suddenly unsure of what to do. If he left Kingsley here, he would certainly run the risk of being killed by one of the many monsters that lived in the Forest. But he couldn't very well return to the man to London and risk being caught by the Aurors.

Finally, he levitated Kingsley's still form into the air and began the long walk back through the Forest to the castle. When he finally emerged onto the carefully tended ground, he deposited Kingsley's body near the lake, content that he would be safe here until he awoke. Then he turned and slipped away into the night, leaving the empty grounds behind.

* * *

In the safety of his own tiny home, Snape sank onto one of the chairs and buried his head in his hands, trying to organize his confused thoughts. He had not been lying when he told Shacklebolt he could help find Minerva, and he certainly wasn't about to give up now. But things had just been complicated by Kingsley's lack of trust and faith in him.

He stared at the object he held in his hands, at what he had found on the Forest's floor. The ring, a dark stone inscribed with smudged marks, rested in his palm. He didn't really know why he had picked it up, but he placed it on the table nonetheless, intent on keeping it.

It was a memento, after all, a memory of everything he had fought against, of what he had wanted to prevent.

Of what he _had_ prevented.

Justice, as he told Shacklebolt, did not exist. Not in some pure, objective form that everyone seemed to talk about. Like truth, it was subjective, unable to be measured in any scientific way. Every society had its own version of justice, and this one was no exception.

He knew his efforts had made the world a better place… but sometimes it was hard to see that.

He had known for sometime that Runcorn was after the Elder Wand. And that Yaxely wanted to continue the pureblood mania that had swept the country under the Dark Lord's rule. And that Hannigan, ambitious as ever, was getting into something too far over his head. But he had no idea how Minerva figured into all of this, and he knew that without Shacklebolt's help, he might never be able to find her.

At least not before she died.

He had one other option, and he did not like it. But if he showed Kingsley more of his memories, if he told him the truth… the whole truth… would he be willing to listen then?

He wanted out of this war. And he knew what everyone else did not, that the war hadn't ended when Potter killed the Dark Lord. Oh, it might have made the world a marginally better place, but evil didn't just die. People were divisive, it was their very nature to separate the world into _them_ and _us_, and wizards did it worst of all. Sooner or later another Dark Lord would rise, and if he wasn't building his reputation on pureblood beliefs, he'd be building it on something else. That was just the way the world worked.

But Snape had given a lot of his life to defeating this Dark Lord, and he didn't want to invest the rest of his life in stopping Runcorn, Yaxely, Hannigan, and all the others who followed them. Simply put, he was tired, and he wanted a chance to rest.

But…

There was always a but in these situations. And in this case, it was Minerva.

If he gave Kingsley his memories, he would be pulled in front of the Wizengamot and all his past deeds would be inspected and judged by the men and women who sat in those stiff-backed chairs, condemning him for his faults, praising him for his successes. As though they had any right at all to judge him, as though they weren't filled with the same goods and bads as everyone else.

And they would twist the findings for their own reasons. Would they even find him innocent with all the proof in front of him? Unlikely. The world wanted him dead, and everyone knew the Wizengamot was swayed by public opinions.

A fair trial… it was one of the few things that the Americans had ever done right, and it was a pity that the English wizards hadn't adopted that idea.

He didn't want to be judged. He'd spent his entire life having other people determine who he was and who he should be. Potter and Black, the Dark Lord and his followers, Dumbledore, and then the younger Potter and his friends. Even Lily, to some extent, had known exactly what she wanted him to be and demanded it from him. So, too, had Narcissa and Lucius and anyone else he might have ever been able to call a friend.

He was tired.

And he wanted out.

Before he could think any further on this subject, however, the door to the small hut burst open and a young man entered, his pale eyes flashing with fury. The young Malfoy looked so much like his father at that moment that Snape had to do a double take before realizing it was Draco standing before him.

"Draco, what…?"

"What did you do?" Draco spat, folding his arms over his chest and marching over to the potions Master. "What did you do to us?"

"Draco, I have no idea what you are talking about," Snape said impatiently, waiting for the boy to explain himself.

"Then tell me," Draco asked, his voice quivering with anger, "why Aurors just showed up at my house and arrested my mother?"


	13. Thunder

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: "Narcissa Malfoy saved your life!" Nott answered coolly. "Pity, really. She should have just left you to die. The world would have been so much better off."

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Twelve: Thunder

News spread quickly. Before long, everyone seemed to know that Narcissa Malfoy had been arrested by the Aurors in conjunction to Severus Snape and the kidnapping of Minerva McGonagall. The Daily Prophet printed sweeping headlines about bringing justice to a fugitive, and much of society seemed to be calling for the harshest interpretation of the law. But there were others, lead mostly by pureblood families, who responded with outrage at a violation of Narcissa's rights, claiming there was no evidence at all to tie her to Snape, and this was just a setup by a corrupt government wanting to seize as much control as possible.

As the controversy rose within a matter of hours, Narcissa found herself sitting in yet another questioning room, surrounded by Aurors. This time it was not Kingsley Shacklebolt who sat across from her, but Jonathon Abbott.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Abbott said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Do you understand why you have been apprehended?"

She lifted her chin slightly and replied, "No. Why don't you elaborate?"

The answer seemed to amuse Abbott. He leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. She didn't seem particularly worried about being in custody, but that could have been bluffing more than anything else. Surely Mrs. Malfoy of all people understood the dangers of Azkaban.

"You are accused of having been in contact with Severus Snape," Abbott said. "Do you deny it?"

"Who accuses me?" Narcissa asked softly.

Abbott shook his head. "Let's just say that information came from within this department." He pursed his lips and added, "So, how about you think carefully over you answer?"

Narcissa didn't respond right away. Finally, she asked, "Have you spoken to Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Abbott said nothing, and Narcissa continued, "I suggest you wait and speak to him when he returns." She slanted a look at the other Aurors and added, "He is the head of this department, after all."

"I'd rather do this now," Abbott hissed. "And if you refuse to talk, I'm sure we have ways to encourage your cooperation." He pulled out a thin vial filled with liquid, and swirled the clear substance around for a moment, staring at it.

"Truth potion," Narcissa sneered. "So unoriginal." Again, she looked at the Aurors. "Have standards become so lax that you allow someone who is neither an Auror nor on the Wizengamot to question suspects without the approval of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement?"

The few Aurors in the room shifted uneasily at her comment.

"I would like to really suggest that you speak to Auror Shacklebolt before proceeding with this." She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, wondering if this was even the right move. What if Shacklebolt was behind this? What if he'd decided to sell her out? It had been a risk, making contact for Severus, but Shacklebolt was an honorable man and she had expected him to keep his promises.

"No!" Abbott snarled, but one of the Aurors interrupted before he could continue.

"She has a point, sir," he said uneasily. "We should speak to Auror Shacklebolt before proceeding with anything that could be determined," he glanced down at the potion in Abbott's hand, "illegal." Use of any form of truth potion, but especially one as powerful as Veritaserum, was strictly regulated by the Ministry, and no one, not even Abbott, was supposed to use it without permission.

Abbott glared at the offending Auror. "She doesn't deserve such rights," he said coldly. Rising to his feet, he leaned over to Narcissa and whispered in a low voice only she could hear, "Do you know what your _friends_ did to my wife? You butchered her. _Murderer_. And I'm going to make you pay for it." Then he straightened up and stalked from the room.

* * *

Snape eyed Draco carefully. The boy seemed different, somehow. He'd always been too naïve and too spoiled for his own good, content to follow in the path of his father without any real thought as to the outcome of that decision. He'd been easily used by and against his father, a marionette. He'd been doted on by his mother, and turned into the prized and envied only child and inheritor of the Malfoy Estate. He was privileged… and he knew it.

Even during the war, when the Dark Lord had done his best to break the young Malfoy, Draco had managed to survive it by holding tightly to his belief that he was better than everyone else, and the name Malfoy would somehow always protect him.

But now… The rage was obvious in those slate gray eyes and the boy was shaking with pent-up fury. For the first time, Draco seemed to realize that there was nothing he could do to get out of this problem. His mother was in jail… and he was helpless to save her.

"What happened?" Snape asked finally, cautiously. "Who arrested her?" It seemed unlikely that it would be Shacklebolt. The Auror would not have had time to regain consciousness, leave Hogwarts, and organize the arrest of Narcissa.

"I don't know. Just Aurors," Draco answered harshly. "What does it matter who they were? They took my _mother_."

"Was Shacklebolt there?"

The young Slytherin huffed and shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't pay attention. Why do you care? Have you not heard a thing I just said? They're going to crucify my mother and you're concerned about who came to arrest her?"

"Draco, stop acting like a silly Hufflepuff," Snape said coolly, "and get yourself under control."

For a moment, it looked as though Draco was going to draw his wand and hex the other man. But after a brief pause, he nodded and said, "Fine. It was Abbott and a couple of Aurors I didn't recognize. I didn't see Shacklebolt, I don't think he was there."

Snape sank into a seat, his brows coming together and he contemplated this newest development. It was too much of a coincidence that Narcissa would have been arrested directly after his conversation with Shacklebolt. But if Shacklebolt was behind the arrest, what was he hoping to prove? And if he wasn't behind it, then who else knew about his attempts to make contact with the Ministry, and how had they discovered this?

The obvious choice was Abbott. He was placed in exactly the right position to pull a stunt like that, and he obviously had a motive. But did he actually have proof?

He could do his best to get Narcissa out of a position that he had helped to place her in, or he could focus his energy on finding Yaxely and Runcorn, and by association, freeing Minerva McGonagall from whatever fate awaited him. But, unfortunately, he wasn't sure if he could do both.

"So?" Draco pressed insistently. "What are you going to do?"

"At the moment?" Snape looked up at the boy. "Nothing."

"Nothing? You can't just do nothing! She's in this mess because she's trying to help you. When they arrested her, they said they knew she'd been in contact with you. This is _your_ fault."

"Calm down," Snape ordered tersely. "Draco, please try thinking with your head. What _can_ I do at the moment? I certainly can't rush to your mother's defense as that will simply put her in more danger."

Draco glared at the man who had once been his favorite professor. "Well, that is just the perfect excuse for you, isn't it? Gets you out of having to do any real work while my mother wastes away in Azkaban."

"Have they sent her to Azkaban yet, or is she just being held for questioning?" Snape asked, leaning forward interestedly, determinedly ignoring Draco's comment. There was very little he wouldn't do to get Narcissa out of trouble, but he was entirely correct when he said he couldn't do anything right away.

He had no idea what he was up against.

"How would I know?" Draco cried again, frustration lacing his voice.

"Go home, Draco," Snape said finally, his tone making it clear that this was not actually a request. "Go home, and do not mention this conversation to anyone, not even your father. I will contact you later."

Draco hissed a sharp breath from between his teeth, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But you had better fix this."

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. "I will," he promised, both to himself and to Draco.

He just had no idea how.

* * *

Kingsley blinked once, opening his eyes to the sound of water lapping against a grassy slope, waves softly crashing into each other. He pushed himself to his feet, staring about. He was still at Hogwarts, his wand lying close to his feet. The castle loomed over him, dark and silent.

The fight with Snape was fresh in his memory, and he wondered why he'd ended up in this relatively safe location instead of somewhere a little more dangerous. He'd been unconscious, and completely at Snape's mercy, and yet the traitor had done no damage.

He pocketed his wand and rubbed the last vestiges of foggy sleep from his eyes. His mind was swirling with confusion, and there was really only one person left who could provide any answers. So he turned his steps determinedly towards the castle.

Once he reached the double doors leading into the Great Hall, he paused and glanced around. There was no one else nearby, as he had expected, but somehow he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps it was just paranoia left over from the war and dealing with the complicated matters of rebuilding a country. Perhaps it was remnant feelings from the fight with Snape. Either way, he picked up his pace and trudged quickly through the empty school.

He half-expected the school to attack him somehow. He was a trespasser interrupting the peaceful silence of the night, his footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor. But he made his way easily towards the Headmistress' office, pausing only to utter the password to the guarding gargoyle.

At the top of the spiral staircase, he paused, drew a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. Then he pushed open the door and walked into the circular room. It was dark, only faint moonlight passing through the window and illuminating floating dust motes in the air. All the portraits, save one, were asleep, resting against the sides of their frames with content sighs.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was wide awake, and watching him with twinkling blue eyes.

"Hello, Albus," Kingsley said, closing the door behind him.

"I've been expecting you for quite some time now," the portrait replied with a smile. "News travels quickly around the school, even when it is devoid of students. We are all very concerned about Minerva's disappearance."

Kingsley nodded slowly, taking a seat across from the portrait, the desk between them. Maybe he had imagined it, but he thought he heard something in Dumbledore's voice, and indication that the man had been waiting for Kingsley for much longer than just since Minerva's kidnapping.

Lips quirked into a thin smile, the Auror asked, "Should I assume, Albus, that you are just as omniscient now as you were when you were alive? Should I skip the explanation of why I am here and simply ask the questions?"

Albus regarded him through his half-moon spectacles. "You're here to talk about Severus," he said bluntly.

Not for the first time, Kingsley wondered how the Headmaster seemed to know so much about everything around him. He nodded slowly, agreeing with the statement, already thinking carefully over the questions he wanted to ask. He wasn't sure where to start, but he needed answers.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore did not give him a chance to ask a single question. Instead, he began to speak without prompting, his tone low and serious. "I cannot stress enough, Kingsley, how imperative it is that you trust Severus on this matter. He is not responsible for Minerva's kidnapping, but he may be able to return her to safety."

"How can you say he is trustworthy?" Kingsley sputtered. "He… he _murdered_ you!"

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied dryly. "But that does not change my earlier statement."

Kingsley considered this, wondering if perhaps the Headmaster had gone mad. It was certainly possible, and there had always been rumors that he was going insane even while he was alive. But this was just too ridiculous to believe. Who trusted their own murderer?

"Why?" he asked finally. "Why should I trust him? Why do you trust him? Why… why?"

The portrait of the Headmaster seemed to pause, conflicting emotions playing across his ancient features. He opened his mouth several times, before shutting it with a tight snap. In the end, his made a decision, and his voice was filled with reluctance as he spoke. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" Kingsley demanded.

"Because I made a promise," the Headmaster answered. "Because I made a promise to someone who deserved, at least this once, for me to keep that promise and honor their wishes."

The stern tone of his voice told Kingsley that Dumbledore would reveal nothing else, no matter how hard he pressed. The Auror accepted these words in silence, still apprehensive. But he had always trusted Dumbledore, and this time would be no different.

"How do I contact Snape?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then smiled as he answered, "I would imagine you can find him the same way he found you."

Kingsley raised one eyebrow, and said, "Through Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Yes," was the calm reply.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and early, and Harry found himself pushing through the crowd of people who had stopped to gawk at him. The Ministry was one of his least favorite places to be, and this reminded him of exactly why. People who believed him to be a hero, something he had never really wanted, flocked to his side and refused to leave.

He managed to ditch them all, however, when he ducked into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and sought out Kingsley Shacklebolt. The place was busy, filled with people rushing back and forth, voices meshed together, multiple conversations rising in volume from a simple murmur to practically a roar.

He caught the first person he saw, an Auror he knew vaguely. "Sir? What's going on?" he asked, remembering to address the man politely.

The Auror paused, eyes widening. "Haven't you read the papers, Potter? Narcissa Malfoy has been arrested, and Shacklebolt and Abbott are at odds over it."

"Arrested? What for?" Harry demanded, instantly both curious and worried.

"Conspiring with Snape," the Auror replied quickly, not noticing the abrupt darkening of Harry's eyes or the way his jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists. The man shrugged, ran a hand through his hair, and disappeared into the throng, too caught up in his own work to worry about the Malfoys' predicament.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then turned towards Kingsley's office. He could hear sounds coming from it, angry arguments and raised voices. He took a few hesitating steps closer, straining to hear. Someone walked into him from behind, and he stumbled forward, almost knocking straight into the door. He reached out to steady himself, and caught sight of two people talking in hushed whispers towards the end of the hall.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

At the same moment, Nott looked up, catching Harry's eye, and surprise instantly filled his features. But his expression turned into a glower, and he pushed his way closer to Harry. When he came within earshot of the Boy Who Lived, he demanded hoarsely, "Do you make it a habit to arrest innocent women on trumped up charges just to further your own popularity?"

Harry flushed. "Narcissa Malfoy is hardly innocent."

"Narcissa Malfoy saved your life!" Nott answered coolly. "Pity, really. She should have just left you to die. The world would have been so much better off."

"Under Voldemort's control?" Harry sneered. He looked around, gesturing to the several Aurors rushing about. "Careful what you say, Nott. You don't want to say the wrong thing here, do you?"

"So, tell me, Potter," Zabini said, joining the conversation, "Why Mrs. Malfoy? What do you stand to gain from her?"

"I had nothing to do with her arrest," Harry answered, words sharp, eyes narrowing. "And I don't ruin people's lives just for fun, Zabini. That's _your_ job."

Instead of taking any offense at the comment, Zabini just grinned. Arms folded over his chest, he replied in a cool voice, "It was never _just_ for fun, Potter. It was for the greater good of the wizarding world."

It took all of Harry's willpower not to hex that arrogant smirk off Zabini's face as he thought of all the people he had lost to this war. Forcing himself to remain calm, he answered bitingly, "And I daresay arresting Narcissa Malfoy was for the good of the wizarding world as well."

"The charges won't last," Nott predicted gravely. "She'll be out before nightfall."

Harry turned to him with a contemptuous expression. "What makes you so sure? Your father isn't around to wield his considerable… influence."

Nott's lips thinned into a straight line as he silently took in Harry's words. His father had always had the ability to determine the outcome of important political events by lending his prestige and money to one or the other particular side of the debate. He was not unlike the Malfoys in that manner, only his father had not been able to keep himself out of Azkaban after the war, and the younger Nott was left alone now.

"Maybe not," Nott replied callously, "but I am. Watch your step, Potter. This war isn't over yet, and you wouldn't want to meet the same ends as your parents and that mutt you called godfather."

He didn't wait for Harry's response, but instead gestured to Zabini, and the two of them slipped away into the crowd. Harry stared after them for a moment, letting the threat roll easily off his skin. He knew there were many who still wished him harm, but he had spent so long living in constant danger that it almost didn't register anymore.

Instead, he turned back to Kingsley's office. The door was still tightly shut, but the voices from within were growing louder, and as he inched closer, he could just make out the words.

"… not an Auror! You have no right to order the arrest and integration of anyone." Kingsley was upset, but his voice had taken a new tone to it, one Harry rarely heard in the normally calm and collected wizard. It was fury.

"Narcissa Malfoy is a traitor and a disgrace to this country. You had no right to _not_ arrest her the moment you discovered she knew where Snape was!" That was clearly Abbott, and he too was unusually angry. Harry barely knew the other man, and had only interacted with his daughter on a few occasions, but he had always been under the impression that the Abbotts, and indeed anyone who had been in Hufflepuff, would be milder and more placid.

"First of all," came Kingsley's tense reply, "we have no evidence that she knows anything about Snape. Her story is that he came to her, and that could very well be true. Secondly, did it ever occur to you that perhaps I didn't want to arrest any of the Malfoys because I had every intention of using them to lead me back to Snape?"

"She's a liar. Anything she tells you is false. How could you _trust_ her?"

Whatever Kingsley replied, it was too quiet for Harry to decipher, and the conversation moved to hushed tones. He sighed and stepped into the hallway again. His first instinct was to demand an audience with Narcissa Malfoy, but he doubted that would be productive. And anyway, it was unlikely that he would be granted such a request, at least not at the moment. Having clout as the Boy Who Lived only worked in some situations, and Kingsley was never one to be awed by his notoriety.

But there was someone else who might give him answers. He doubted Draco Malfoy would willingly help him, but he was the Boy Who Lived, and his opinion carried powerful sway in the magical community. This time, he had something Malfoy wanted, and maybe they could make a trade.

Severus Snape for Narcissa Malfoy.

It went against everything he'd ever been taught in the Auror training program. He knew he wasn't supposed to side-step the laws or the opinions of his superiors. And he knew that using his own popularity to broker a deal that would be frowned upon by Kingsley and Minister Diggory would not sit well with the other Aurors or his own family. And, on top of all of that, he knew that if the Malfoys had been in league with Snape for the past few years, they deserved to suffer for their crimes.

But this wasn't about laws or rules or policies. This was about bringing Snape to justice, and if absolving the Malfoys of their sins and incurring the wrath of everyone he respected or admired was the only way to do it, then so be it.

* * *

"Uh… Father?" Percy stuck his head into his father's office, looking a little diffident about intruding.

"Oh, Percy," Arthur replied, looking up with a smile. "Come in." He gestured with one hand for his son to take a seat across from him, and frowned as he realized that Percy actually looked a little scared to be here. "What's wrong?"

"Uh… actually, it's Penny," Percy explained. "She overheard something a while ago. At St. Mungo's." He seemed to be at a loss for words, groping for a way to explain what he was trying to say. "It was people. Two men. Talking. She said… she said they were making plans to discredit the Minister. And something about Snape."

Arthur leaned back in his seat while he contemplated this. The wizarding world was in disarray, no matter how hard the Ministry tried to hold them all together. It came as no surprise to him that people would be discussing how to discredit Diggory, but to do it openly and in St. Mungo's? That seemed a little extreme.

"Anyway," Percy continued, rising back to his feet after he had faithfully conveyed the message, "I didn't really know what to do with that information. I hoped you would have an idea."

"Of course," Arthur assured his son. "I'll pass it along to Kingsley, and he can take care of it." Of course, Kingsley was currently embroiled in a political battle involving the fates of Narcissa Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Minerva McGonagall, and probably had a few other issues on his mind. Still, he would make sure that someone looked into this.

"Right." Percy turned to go, and had almost reached the door when his father called him back.

"Perce? I was just going to take a break for lunch. Do you want… do you want to join me?" It was an olive branch, although awkwardly offered, his words coming out in a stutter. Still, it was the best he could manage at the moment to repair the strained relationship.

But Percy shook his head. "I… uh… I have plans. I was going to meet Penny…" He trailed off, looking uncertain. He was sorely tempted to invite his father along, but the words died on his lips and he found himself unable to form the sentence.

"Oh. Okay. Will you be home for dinner?"

"I can't,' Percy replied, looking apologetic. He didn't elaborate, and instead averted his eyes, almost guiltily. "I'm sorry." Without saying anything else, he hurried out of the office.

Arthur watched him go curiously. All of his children had long since moved out of the Burrow into flats in London, Diagon Alley, or other parts of the country. But they all returned so frequently, bringing their family with them, that it felt in some ways as though no one had ever moved out. He liked it, the constant bustle and noise, the feeling that his family was so close.

Only Percy seemed to resist that, coming for brief periods of time, and usually merely if something important had happened that the family needed to discuss, or if Molly bothered him enough that he eventually caved to her dinner request.

"Arthur Weasley?"

He started and looked up as the ancient man with piercing blue eyes walked into his office. "Aberforth Dumbledore." He rose to his feet, surprised to see the recluse standing before him. "Please, come in."

"Thank you." The man stepped into the room, looking decidedly out of place. He had never particularly like society, keeping mostly to himself. Now that he had walked directly into the heart of the Ministry, he was obviously incredibly uncomfortable, and it was only something very important that could have dragged him out here.

He was holding a partially-crumpled Daily Prophet in his hands.

"I wanted to speak to Shacklebolt, but he wasn't available," Aberforth explained. "And… well, everyone knows that Shacklebolt and Diggory both listen to you. You were in the Order of the Phoenix. With my brother and I."

"Yes, I was," Arthur replied, flushing slightly with the praise. He wasn't sure if Aberforth was trying to flatter him to win some favor or if he actually believed what he was saying, but his words had a bit of truth to him. He did hold sway with Kingsley, having fought beside him in both wars.

"Is this true?" Aberforth asked, flattening the Prophet on the desk.

Arthur glanced down at the first page, at the headline which read _Traitor in Our Midst: Narcissa Malfoy Arrested for Conspiracy with Snape_. "She's been arrested," Arthur agreed, "but the charges haven't been confirmed."

"If they are confirmed, what will happen to her?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows, surprised by the question. He hadn't expected it, not from this taciturn and reticent man. He was rough around the edges, jaded and cold, unlettered. Arthur had barely known the man, only worked with him once or twice during the first war. He seemed to care little for the opinions of others, and there was always a simmering tension in his eyes when he spoke with his older brother.

"She'll go to prison, I expect," Arthur answered. "But I'm really not qualified to speak about it."

"I've heard rumors that they might make a deal with her. She hands over Snape, and she goes free." Aberforth was staring hard with those blue eyes, so incredibly like his brother's, that seemed to stare directly through someone and into their soul.

Arthur fidgeted under the stare and wondered how the younger Dumbledore knew this. He had no doubt that Kingsley was considering that offer, but he found it unlikely that the Head of Magical Law Enforcement would let those rumors be known.

"You need to catch Snape," Aberforth continued.

"Wh-what?" Arthur stuttered, surprised.

Aberforth expelled an annoyed breath. "I won't pretend to think my brother a saint like everyone else. The entire world, including your precious Potter, practically worships him. He had flaws like you couldn't believe, and that Skeeter woman was closer to the mark in her book than any of you have come in all your years of knowing him."

"Albus was a great man," Arthur protested.

Aberforth snorted. "Albus was a fool. An arrogant, haughty fool. He had a habit of ruining lives, particularly those he claimed to care about." He paused, his expression softening slightly, the hard edges melting. "But he was my brother. And Snape killed him. I want Snape caught."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall came back to consciousness slowly and painfully. Her limbs were stiff, and it took her a moment to realize that it was not the presence of any spell that was keeping her trapped, but rather a combination of her own old age and exhaustion.

She kept her eyes firmly closed, listening to her surroundings.

Footsteps echoed next to her on the cold cement floor. A voice said, "Are you sure she knows?"

"How many times have we been over this?" another voice demanded, coming somewhere from her left. It was male and harsh. "Potter had the Elder Wand. He took it from the Dark Lord. But he doesn't have it now, so it has to be somewhere on the castle grounds."

"That doesn't mean she knows where it is," the first voice protested, also male, but weaker, more timid. "Anyway, how do you know it is at Hogwarts? The Brat Who Lived could have hidden it anywhere."

"He didn't. I know him, alright? He feels a connection to Hogwarts. He would have hidden it there."

There was a silence, and Minerva chanced a flickering of her eyelids, glancing around the room. From underneath her lashes, she could see a stone wall dripping with damp water. The air smelled like mold and was filled with tiny flecks of dust. She could only conclude that she was in some sort of basement.

The two speakers were out of her line of vision.

She hadn't been able to identify either voice, although they both sounded somewhat familiar. The one thing she had been able to determine, however, was that neither had the trademark sneer, drawl, or hiss of Snape.

So where was he?

"What if she doesn't know where it is?" the first voice questioned, and Minerva shut her eyes tightly, forcing herself to relax and think of a plan. She didn't have her wand, and she doubted she'd have been able to easily escape from here even if she did have it.

"It doesn't matter," the second voice answered after a pause. "It isn't about her. If she doesn't know, we'll get it from Potter." When the other man made no reply, the voice continued, "What's the matter? Are you getting cold feet?"

"No. Of course not." The reply came a little too quickly to be completely honest.

"It will work. Potter, Diggory, and Snape will all walk right into this trap. If we're lucky, we'll get the Malfoys also."

Minerva was unable to keep the slight breath of surprise from escaping between her parted lips. How could this be a trap for Snape? He was the one who had kidnapped her, and that didn't make any sense at all.

"She moved," the first voice said, scared. "I think she's waking up."

She didn't even register the stunning spell before a burst of light flashed before her eyes and she was sent sprawling back into the darkness.


	14. Trades of the Soul

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Light and Dark must join forces to save McGonagall, and several deals are made.

Author's note: Re: Romulus: I am, actually, female. And yes, my worlds are pretty much always somewhat dark. I prefer bittersweet stories because they just seem so much more realistic. The real world isn't a happy and bright paradise, at least not all the time.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Trades of the Soul

The names Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini may not have carried the same weight since the war, but they were still dominant families. Money meant influence, and influence meant power. While news of Narcissa's arrest inflamed the masses and left people calling for her blood, another set of rumors began to make their was through certain sectors of society. It didn't take long before whispers filled the streets and began to instill some doubt in the older wizarding families who still remembered what the world had been like before the war.

"I heard Mrs. Malfoy was framed by Abbott. Shacklebolt didn't even approve the arrest."

"Can you really trust anything Nott says?"

"I don't know. They certainly didn't follow protocol arresting her, did they?"

Minister Diggory stared at the young man in front of him. The spy's nondescript face was schooled into a picture of nonchalance and indifference, but there was a strange glimmer in his eyes that revealed his interest. The news he had detailed to the Minister had been dismaying and troublesome.

Diggory closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers interlaced on the smooth surface of the desk. Behind him, the enchanted window looked out onto a sunlit plaza, sparkling and glistening in the early morning air.

"So… there are those who want Narcissa Malfoy to be released?" he said finally.

"Yes," the spy answered calmly. "But there are also those who would like to see her imprisoned for the rest of her life." When the Minister said nothing, the spy continued in a complacent tone, "You cannot appease both factions."

"I know,' Diggory agreed heavily. He rose to his feet and walked over to the window. Staring into the magically-created scene, he asked, "Who is behind this call for Mrs. Malfoy's release?"

"Well, her husband and son, of course," the spy answered, ticking the names off on his fingers. "Theodore Nott. Mrs. Zabini and her son. Hannigan."

"All relatively shady characters," Diggory mused quietly.

"Not quite," the spy interjected softly, almost reprehensively. "The Patils. They had children in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Zacharias Smith. He was in Hufflepuff. Lionel Hartung. He was a Gryffindor, too, graduated about twelve years ago, I believe. He owns…"

"Hartung Emporium," the Minister muttered. "One of the largest wizarding businesses in Britain."

"The list goes on, you know." The spy leaned back in his seat, watching the Minister carefully. "There are plenty of witches and wizards who have never had even the slightest bit of Dark associated with their name who still want Narcissa Malfoy released because they believe her arrest was a breach of justice."

"It was a breach of justice and protocol," Diggory replied emphatically, turning to face the spy. "I can't even begin to fathom what Abbott was thinking."

"He wanted revenge," the spy answered. "You know what happened to his wife."

Diggory swallowed uncomfortably. They'd all heard exactly how brutally his wife had been murdered during the war. And although his heart went out to the man, he had been skeptical about Abbott's appointment to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was driven by passion, and since the death of his wife, all passion had been turned towards catching Death Eaters, no matter the methods used.

Finally, Diggory said, "Perhaps not a wise appointment."

The spy shrugged. "He isn't the only one who lost family during the war, and he certainly won't be the only one to cry out for revenge."

Diggory sat down once again, and rested his hands on the desk. "You can go," he said dismissively, and the spy slipped out of the room just an unobtrusively as he had appeared.

The use of spies was not uncommon. In fact, both Scrimgeour and Fudge had used their own staff to glean information about organizations and businesses, and sentiment from the general society. Their methods had been secretive and, for the most part, underhanded, but highly effective. Although Fudge's attempt to use Percy Weasley as a spy had failed, almost every other time he had arranged to do something like that, it had been met with great success. And perhaps Scrimgeour had been even more skillful in his dealings.

What was different now was that Diggory employed people to act as nothing but spies. They had no other job in his office save gathering information from people. It was a much more efficient system, and yet there was something cold about it, an impersonal and callous determination to discover every possible detail, no matter how personal or private.

The public would most likely not be pleased if they knew what he was doing and how he was doing it. But he kept his secrets well, and whenever he began to feel the first tendrils of doubt or disgust for his actions, he would simply remind himself that he was trying to hold a rapidly disintegrating society together, and this was necessary.

* * *

Narcissa waited until she was safely inside her house before wrenching her arm from Kingsley's grasp. She took a few steps away from the Auror and raised her head in a dignified manner. The other Aurors had not entered the house with her, and as she was alone with the head of Magical Law Enforcement, she found herself better able to speak with some impunity.

"Why have you released me?"

"It's temporary," Kingsley replied. He held his wand in his hands, twisting it back and forth and running his fingers along the smooth wood. "As you know, the Trace has been placed upon you once again, and you are forbidden from leaving the country."

Narcissa snorted. "I have no intention of running like a scared school girl."

Kingsley ignored the comment and continued, "If I were you, I would, however, be wary when I step outside. There are plenty who mean you harm."

"There are always plenty who mean me harm," Narcissa answered coolly. "Are you going to arrest me for any crime?"

"No," Kingsley answered. "Not yet."

"I see."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley said seriously, "I need for you to arrange a meeting with Snape. I need to speak to him again, as soon as possible."

The aristocratic blonde gave a humorless smile. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I'm not in touch with him, Auror Shacklebolt."

Kingsley stared at his own wand, before sliding it into his pocket and looking back up at Narcissa. "Yes, you are. And we both know that any defense you give is a lie. But I am offering you a choice. You can refuse to cooperate, and we can continue to look for evidence against you, which I assure you, we will find." He paused, waiting a beat, before continuing, "Or you can help me now, and I can ensure that all charges against you are dropped."

Narcissa folded her arms over her chest and replied with a defiant smirk, "With all due respect, Auror, I've been threatened by everyone from Mr. Runcorn to Mr. Abbott because of this alleged association with Severus Snape. If you are all so convinced that I am guilty, why should I believe that you aren't simply waiting for me to incriminate myself?"

It was a valid question, and Kingsley knew that he would be wary of trusting others had he been in her position. But he bit back his retort of frustration and replied in an even voice, "I am not making threats. I had nothing to do with Abbott's actions, nor with any interaction you might have had with Runcorn."

"Again," Narcissa said with that same complacent manner, "why should I trust you?"

There were two possible paths from this moment, two courses of action that could possibly yield the desired result. Kingsley knew he could stand there and argue, profess his honesty, and hope that she would believe him. And yet he knew, deep down, that this was not the case. She would laugh off his requests, ignore his pleas, and scorn his vows. And even more than that, Narcissa had shown in the past that she was infinitely more concerned with what was best for her family than what was best for the world, and engaging in any form of subterfuge with a department of the Ministry that could easily turn against her could not be considered beneficial for her husband or son.

No, that was clearly not an option. His other choice was to force her hand, and although he was loathe to sink to such levels, he knew the necessity of doing so. The Greater Good came first, and if he had to sacrifice the Malfoys' pride to stop this traitor in his dangerous and deadly plans… so be it.

He met her gaze and said in a steady voice, and with much more conviction than he actually felt, "I'm not giving you a choice in this matter, Mrs. Malfoy. I presented this as a request under the hopes that you might willingly agree to work with me. But if you refuse this favor, I can force you into it."

"How?"

Kingsley took a deep breath and said, "Mrs. Malfoy, your entirely family was proven to be Death Eaters. You were acquitted of such crimes because of your actions in saving the life of Harry Potter during the final battle. So, too, was your husband." He paused, letting his gaze slide past her to the far wall, where a portrait of Draco hung next to several other family paintings. "Your son was never charged with any crimes because you and your husband were cleared. But he could still be charged as a Death Eater." He looked back at Narcissa, who had gone extremely pale. "He bears the Dark Mark, doesn't he?"

"Are you threatening Draco?" Narcissa asked, her voice deathly quiet. She lifted her chin, eyeing him with supreme distaste, but underneath the brave façade, her eyes sparkled with a sudden wave of fear.

"Arrange this meeting with Snape, and I can assure you that your son will never be charged as a Death Eater. Not for his crimes in this past war."

Narcissa contemplated her choices in silence, knowing she did not have much of a choice at all. She'd been willing to sell her soul to the devil himself to protect Draco, and that was why she had once ended up on the doorstep of Snape's dingy little hut in direct violation to the Dark Lord's orders. There was nothing she wouldn't do now, but… It seemed that protecting Draco might necessarily come at the risk of betraying Snape. How could she turn on her friend?

How could she not do everything in her power to save her son?

Kingsley could see the brief internal battle playing across Narcissa's normally blank face, and felt another welling of guilt, hot and bubbling, in his stomach. But he had no choice in the matter, not really. Sometimes, in the name of what was right, people had to do things that were wrong. He'd killed before, and he'd lied and cheated… And he would continue to do so as long as his job required it.

The sound of footsteps on the stairway to their left caused both Narcissa and Kingsley to swing sharply around and watch in surprise as Draco's head peeked around the corner. He froze at the sight of Kingsley, but ill-concealed relief washed over his features as he saw his mother standing there.

"Hello, Mother," he said formally.

"Hello, Draco," she replied.

Kingsley looked from mother to son, then said, "Mrs. Malfoy… your answer, please?"

She looked at him, then looked away. "The Forbidden Forest at nightfall. I will endeavor to ensure that he will be there."

Draco looked back and forth between the two, obviously confused and intrigued by the conversation. But Kingsley simply nodded and strode from the house, leaving the two Malfoys standing alone in the silence.

* * *

When Harry appeared outside the Malfoy Manor, he was slightly surprised to see Draco Malfoy already standing in the front yard next to the oak gate, staring back at the house with a slightly concerned expression on his face. The younger Malfoy turned at the audible crack of Harry's appearance. His gray eyes narrowed slightly, and one hand moved to the pocket of his robes, prepared to draw his wand if need be.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted with a nod and a barely concealed sneer of disdain.

Malfoy met Harry's gaze with a sneer of his own. "Potter," he replied, matching Harry's tone of formality.

"I need to talk to you," Harry said firmly. He looked around for a moment, and wondered if there was anyone else on the property. "In private. I don't want to be overheard."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at that. "My mother is in the house." He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, then said, "There's no one in the garden."

He beckoned with one hand, and Harry followed him around the corner of the house and into a luscious garden. The ground beneath their feet was covered in white and pink flowers, a cascading rush of delicate petals. The occasional blood red flowering plant punctuated the meticulously tended garden, and the almost over-powering scent of flowers lingered in the air.

Harry watched Malfoy with a wary stare, more than a little surprised that the other boy had so readily agreed to speak to him. He had envisioned that this meeting would begin with the usual mocking threats and derisive remarks. But to his perplexed chagrin, Malfoy merely gestured for him to start speaking.

"I'm here to offer you a deal," Harry said finally. "One better than any of you actually deserve."

"And what's that?" Malfoy asked coolly.

"You lead me to Snape, and I'll make sure no Auror ever bothers you or your mother. Ever again."

Malfoy paused, eyes widening ever so slightly as he listened to the other wizard's words. He seemed to be contemplating a response, and then a moment later suspicion and distrust flickered through his features, and he said bitingly, "You don't have the power to make that type of deal. And I don't know where Snape is anyway."

Harry set his features into a hard line as he answered, "That's a crock, and we both know it. You know exactly where Snape is, and the fact that your mother has managed to evade justice for so long has nothing to do with her actual innocence."

"Leave my mother out of this," Malfoy snarled instantly, eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't you dare talk about her."

Harry allowed himself a thin smile of triumph as he replied, "I am trying to leave your mother out of this, Malfoy. That is exactly what I am offering you."

Malfoy shook his head. "You can't. You don't have that ability."

Harry shrugged, unconcerned. "I can turn your mother into a saint, Malfoy. I can tell the world that she was so brave, so courageous, when she lied to Voldemort to protect me. I can make them think her such a hero that she would be completely untouchable, and the world would cry with rage if the Aurors so much as looked cross-eyed at her. I may not have the legal power to offer her sanctuary, but I can give it to her nonetheless."

Malfoy hesitated once again, then looked over his shoulder at the house. Something was passing through his eyes, an undecipherable look that Harry could not read. He seemed to be weighing his options, trying to come up with a solution to the current predicament. Harry wondered vaguely why Malfoy was waiting, why he hadn't taken the offer instantly. Was it because he did not trust Harry to keep his word, or was it because he was uncomfortable with the idea of betraying the man who had been his favorite teacher for so long?

Either way, it did not matter. All that mattered to Harry was finding Snape and bringing him to justice, and let Malfoy stew in his own self-doubts.

"Why?" Malfoy said finally. "Why...?"

"Why what?" Harry snapped irritably.

"Why would you offer this deal?" Malfoy elaborated, expression pinching into a look of complete distrust. "You'll forgive me if I don't jump to the conclusion that anything you say is trustworthy," he drawled bitterly. "Why would you ever agree to something that lets my family go free? We both know you want so desperately to see my mother in Azkaban for the rest of her life."

"You're giving me a lecture about being trustworthy?" Harry spat, enraged. "You've broken your word and switched sides so many times, it's a miracle anyone ever believes a single thing that comes out of your mouth."

"You didn't answer my question," Malfoy answered in his tone of infuriating calmness, still regarding Harry with the same expression of suspicion.

"I don't have to justify myself to you," Harry answered finally, forcing his words to remain calm and evenly measured. "I'm telling you now that I will keep this deal. Why do you care what my reasons are?"

Malfoy turned away and walked through the garden. He stepped carelessly on the plants, straying from the path of grass and dirt. The petals crumpled under his feet, tiny, delicate, and pale, leaving footprints marred into the crushed flowers. Behind them both, the windows of the house overlooked the path, and Harry caught sight of Narcissa Malfoy staring down at them from the second floor, watching her son with a scrutinizing stare. She turned and met hsi gaze for a moment, then looked back at her son, before disappearing into the interior of the house.

Harry wondered idly if she was on her way down the stairs and out to the garden.

"Malfoy!" he called after the retreating wizard.

Malfoy spun around and looked at him, then sighed, as though making up his mind. "I can't tell you where he is, Potter," he said finally. "I'm not the secret keeper."

Harry digested this for a moment, knowing it would be useless to press the issue. If Malfoy couldn't tell him Snape's location, then he would have to find a different way. But as he watched the pale man standing before him, he knew he would never get a better option than the deal he was offering now. "What can you tell me?" he asked quietly.

"Auror Shacklebolt has made a deal with my mother. She's going to set up a meeting for him and Snape."

"Why? When? Where?" Harry asked instantly, excitedly. Was Narcissa Malfoy already laying the trap for Snape? Had she already agreed to bring the traitor to justice, to turn on her own friend to save her life and the life of her son and husband?

Malfoy didn't answer. Instead, he looked over at the house again. Narcissa Malfoy was standing on the porch.

Harry waited for the reply, contemplating his choices. If Malfoy's mother had already agreed to betray Snape to Kingsley, then she must have made some form of deal. She wouldn't be doing this for nothing. In which case, there was little that Harry could offer that she wouldn't have already received. In fact, there was little Harry could offer that she would want, having already ensured that she, her husband, and her son would escape the justice system.

Unless the trap was not for Snape. What if the trap was for Kingsley? What if Snape was planning on removing yet another threat from his list? Could he be planning to kill the Head of Magical Law Enforcement?

"When and where?" Harry asked again, a little harshly. He'd go, just to make sure...

Snape would not escape this time.

"The Forbidden Forrest," Malfoy answered finally. "Nightfall."

As Harry walked away, he heard a tiny voice in his mind, one that sounded quite a bit like Hermione, reprimanding him for what he had done.

_You would absolve the Malfoys of their crimes just to fit your own needs? If they have been hiding Snape for the past few years, they are guilty as well. How can you just let them go?_

But he ignored the voice. Hermione was not there, not standing in front of him, not able to argue with his actions and point out his flaws. Without her constant nagging, he was free to make his own choices about what was wrong and what was right. And even if the little voice would not completely disapear, even if it kept whispering to him...

_...this isn't about right and wrong. This is about your need for revenge, not justice..._

...he could ignore it.

He had a traitor to catch.

* * *

Draco watched as Potter walked away, then turned towards his mother. She'd come down the few steps into the garden, and was staring at him with a mixture of concern and distrust in her pale eyes.

"Draco? What was Potter doing here?"

"Same as usual," Draco replied dismissively, shaking away any guilt he felt at the lies that so easily fell from his tongue. "Threats."

She nodded, but looked less than convinced.

Draco swallowed uneasily, but walked past his mother into the house. Once upon a time, he would never have dreamed of betraying Snape. But he'd heard enough of the conversation between his mother and Shacklebolt to know that his family was not going to walk out this in one piece. Shacklebolt was using his mother, blackmailing her, threatening her, just to achieve his own ends. And Draco knew he would go to hell and back before he let anyone destroy his family.

He knew many people who had joined the Dark Lord's ranks and turned their backs on everything that ever mattered. And he knew his mother had defied everyone and everything just to make sure he stayed safe from the Dark Lord's wrath. Snape had protected him, watched over him, guided him away from making some of the worst mistakes he could have made with his life, and selling out the potions Master was a betrayal that would eat away at him forever.

But he would not let anything happen to his mother. He would protect her, the way she had protected him, no matter the cost, no matter what he had to give up, no matter who he had to betray.

He'd sell his soul if he had to.

And he had the sinking feeling that, by the time this was all over, he'd have been forced to do just that.


	15. My Soul to Keep

Title: All That Glitters  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything  
Summary: And for the first time in three years, after all the fruitless searching and frustrated dead ends, Harry found himself staring at Severus Snape.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Fourteen: My Soul to Keep

…

Now I lay me down to sleep  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

_The fading light of a slowly sinking sun cast long shadows along the walls of the office. Snape looked around for a moment, letting his eyes wander over each and every detail, as though trying to commit them to memory. He could hear the sound of footsteps on the creaking stairs through the closed wooden door behind him, and he knew this was his last moment to himself before everything changed._

_"Good evening, Severus," Dumbledore said, stepping through the doorway and smiling slightly at his spy. His blue eyes were not twinkling, nor did the smile that curved his lips reach his serious gaze._

_"Good evening, Headmaster," Snape replied. He folded his arms over his chest in a defensive manner and glanced around the room one last time._

_Dumbledore placed his wand on his desk and gestured for Snape to take a seat. The potions Master seemed reluctant to do so, but gave a slow nod of acquiescence and slid into the chairs. His eyes never left the wand lying carelessly on the surface of Dumbledore's desk._

_"I trust you," Dumbledore said casually, his back to Snape as he leaned over a cupboard and pulled out a large stone basin._

_Snape looked up in surprise, eyes widening. "Wh-what?" he asked, sounding a little confused._

_Dumbledore turned to face him, holding the basin in one hand. "You were wondering why I would have discarded my wand when I had a known Death Eater sitting in my office." He glanced at the wand for a moment, then placed the basin on the desk next to it. He still made no move to pick up his wand. "My answer, Severus, is that I trust you."_

Snape stared at the flames crackling in the fireplace. The visit by Narcissa Malfoy had left him unsettled, but the doubts that plagued him were unclear and ill-formed. He had no reason not to trust Narcissa, and wasn't this exactly what he wanted anyway? A meeting with Shacklebolt that might take him one step closer towards freeing Minerva McGonogall from whatever fate awaited her.

He let out a slow breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He could see Dumbledore standing in front of him, one hand resting on the pensieve, eyes peering at Snape with a scrutinizing gaze. It had been his first Occlumency lesson, and the first time he had realized just how skilled of a Legilimens the Headmaster really was. He had been able to read Snape's insecurities without having to make eye-contact, a skill very few had. No others save the Dark Lord himself had been able to do that.

It was also the first time anyone besides his mother or Lily had admitted to trusting him.

Snape opened his eyes and rose to his feet. As always, his emotions when thinking of Dumbledore were conflicted. He could not deny the hatred he felt, the anger the bubbled underneath the surface, the fury at everything he had ever been asked to do. And yet, despite all that, there was still that part of him that remembered the Headmaster with something akin to friendship. Dumbledore remained one of the very few who had ever trusted him so implicitly, who had forgiven him for past mistakes and convinced him that redemption was possible.

Even Lily had not done that. Even Lily had never been able to forgive him for that one word he'd uttered.

A wry smile tugged at his lips as he thought to himself that of course Dumbledore would have believed in second chances. If anything Rita Skeeter had written was true, the Headmaster had been in need of a second chance just as much as anyone else.

He was vaguely aware of the other presence that appeared in his hut, of the footsteps that fell on the floor, echoing slightly. He didn't turn around, but continued to stare at the fire until a voice called him out of his thoughts.

"What are you doing?"

He turned and looked at the woman standing in the doorway of the room. With one eyebrow raised, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I did not save you from death by Nagini's poison and agree to be your Secret Keeper just to have you kill yourself on a suicide mission now."

Snape sighed. "I know," he said. "And I am sure. I know what I am doing."

"I do, too," the woman argued. "You are risking everything for a woman who still believes you to be a traitor."

Snape shook his head. "No. I am risking everything for a woman who was once one of the few allies I had." The transfiguration Professor had never been friendly, but she was polite and cordial, and she had accepted Dumbledore's assurances without question. She had trusted Snape for many of the years they'd been there, right up until the very end when he had been forced to make his final move and take Dumbledore's life. She hated him now, that much was true. But she had trusted him once, and it was for that woman, the one who had placed her own safety in his hands, that he would risk his life.

The woman gave a dark chuckle. "You never had allies. You had a best friend who turned on you for a single mistake. You had a Headmaster who used you for his own ends. And you had a friend who cared only for her son's safety, and not for your own."

Snape met her gaze without flinching. "I made far more than just one mistake," he said firmly. "Lily was right about one thing. I saw her as different from all the others who my Housemates tormented, and I shouldn't have. None of them truly deserved what the Dark Lord had planned for them. And I should have known that."

The woman tilted her head to the side. "And the others?"

"Narcissa Malfoy is a petty, materialistic, egotistical witch," Snape said quietly, "and she is one of the bravest woman I have ever met." He paused, then asked her with a challenging stare, "Would you not risk everything and everyone for your child?"

The woman didn't answer.

"Why are you asking me this?" Snape continued. "You never expressed displeasure in my interactions with Narcissa before."

The woman smiled, the first true smile that had graced her face since entering the hovel. "To make sure you could defend your actions. If you can argue with me that there is a reason to do all this, then I will believe you, I will trust your judgment. But I had to be certain that you could argue it. I had to know that you were doing this out of something more than a misplaced sense of loyalty to people who never really existed."

"I am not blind to anyone's flaws," Snape murmured, "least of all my own. But I am... convinced... that I am doing the right thing."

The woman nodded. "Fine." Another pause, then, "You didn't defend Dumbledore."

Snape glanced back at the flames.

_"My answer, Severus, is that I trust you."_

"There was never any need," Snape said finally. "I... I trust him. He... he trusted me."

"Did he now?" she asked, her voice suddenly bitter, almost a sneer.

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then said coolly, "You've changed, you know."

She smirked. "So have you."

_Snape slowly crawled to his feet and reached up gingerly to touch the two fresh punctures in his neck. He could still feel the icy cold venom in his veins, but at least he was still alive, if only barely. He looked towards the woman who had saved him, his mouth opening slightly in surprise._

_"The battle still rages," she said._

_He looked past her, towards the path that lead from the Shrieking Shack back to the castle grounds. Potter and his friends would probably just now be joining the fray. He wondered, would he have time to complete his task? He must make Potter understand what he had to do to win this war. As much as he loathed the idea of sending Lily's son to his death, he knew there wasn't any other choice. This was simply the way it had to be._

_He pushed past the woman, moving slowly, his entire body struggling with the effort of staying upright. It was not far to the end of the tunnel, but his breath came in labored gasps as he scrambled from the base of the tree and into the open air._

_Up ahead, he could see Potter, flanked by Granger and Weasley, heading towards the school._

_He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, summoning the last vestiges of strength. Then he pointed his wand at Potter and whispered, "Ponus memoria."_

_Up ahead, Potter stumbled. He reached out to steady himself on Weasley's shoulder, and Granger turned to him in alarm._

_"Harry?" Snape heard her ask, voice trembling with worry._

_"I'm alright," Potter said, straightening slowly. "I just..." He trailed off and frowned, looking around the grounds. Fortunately, Snape had found the presence of mind to make himself invisible, and so Harry's gaze past right over him._

_"You sure you're okay, mate?" came Weasley's questioning voice._

_"Yeah." Potter turned back to his friends. "I just... I just figured something out." He sounded conflicted, as though unsure if he should elaborate. And beneath that, his tone also carried a hint of despair, of emotion welling from a sudden, unpleasant, and thoroughly unavoidable realization._

_Snape watched him go with bittersweet sadness. "I'm sorry, Lily," he murmured.  
_

Snape shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had cast that spell, fully believing Potter would die at the Dark Lord's hand. He hadn't been entirely sure how that would stop the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore had sworn it would, and the Headmaster had been right. As usual. He stared once again at the fire, wishing there was a way to explain his loyalty to this woman. He knew the Malfoys too questioned how he could have been so trusting of the Headmaster. And it was difficult to explain, but...

He had been trusted by so few for his entire life. The three Malfoys, for a time Lily Evans, and, ironically, his two masters, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord's trust had been ill-founded, and Lily's trust had faded. The Malfoys had trusted him for the longest period of time, but had often made requests of that trust that left him in a difficult position. Dumbledore's trust had been placed on him solely because of his love for Lily, and perhaps that trust had been too much. He had been asked to do such difficult things, and with little regard for his own opinion of them.

But Dumbledore had trusted him with the most important aspect of his life.

Hogwarts.

He had given Hogwarts to Snape in the hopes that he could protect the students from the Dark Lord's more ruthless tendencies.

That one action spoke volumes more than any words the Headmaster could have uttered. For him to trust anyone, least of all a reformed Death Eater, with the hundreds of students at Hogwarts... How could he explain to someone who had been trusted by her peers what that had felt like? She simply wouldn't be able to understand that he was willing to put his trust in someone simply because that person had trusted him. She'd never been in that position.

On his own, he was never sure he could have made the decision to sacrifice Lily's son. And yet, whether anyone chose to admit it or not, it was a sacrifice that had to be made. Because, in the greater scheme of things, one single life could not compare to the entire world and all those who would have suffered under the Dark Lord's reign. And although he had been the one forced to carry out the mission, he could not deny that he was glad he had not been the one to make the initial decision. He did not envy Dumbledore the types of choices he had been forced to make while fighting that war.

Snape sighed. He hated the old man with a virulent passion... and not a day went by that he didn't miss him. Conflicted, as always, he turned back to his guest and said firmly, "I know what I am doing." And he prayed to God or whatever being was watching over them all that his words were not a lie.

* * *

_Harry rubbed his forehead with one hand and glanced around the shadowed grounds. He could feel the tension in the air, could feel Hermione and Ron at his side, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. He frowned, thinking he had heard the sound of distant footsteps behind him, but before he could comment on that, something painful lodged itself in his chest, and he stumbled forward, swallowing back fear, and caught himself on Ron's shoulder._

_"Harry?" Hermione asked, terrified._

_He looked at her, but other thoughts were running through his mind._

_The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake... that was five. The twisted remnant of soul resting inside Voldemort himself, that was six. What was the seventh?_

_What was it Dumbledore had told him during his second year? The Headmaster had said that he could speak Parseltongue because Voldemort had unknowingly transferred a bit of himself into Harry the night he had tried to kill him as a baby. And what was a Horcrux? A bit of someone's soul. A bit of someone's soul that was implanted in an object after the person had committed a murder._

_His parents._

_The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake... and him._

_He blinked once and said, "I'm alright. I just..." He trailed off and glanced around the grounds. There was no one there, and yet he had the strangest sensation that he was being watched. He let out a slow breath._

_"You sure you're alright, mate?" Ron pressed, worry evident in his tone._

_He swallowed again, an uneasy movement. _

_The only way to kill Voldemort was to destroy all the Horcruxes first. All of them... including himself. But if he died... how would he stop Voldemort? Or perhaps that was the point, perhaps all he was meant to do was die, and then... Voldemort would be mortal. And perhaps he would die as well, his soul so fragmented by everything he had done._

_"Yeah," he said hollowly, looking at Ron, trying to memorize his best friend's features. His eyes turned to Hermione, and he wondered if he would ever see them again. "I just... I just figured something out."_

_He took a deep breath and walked determinedly forward. He had to do this, as much as he didn't want to. It was the only way... and he had to save the world._

Harry fingered his wand lightly, running his thumb and forefinger over the wood. Shadows crept along the Forest floor, and he could hear the distant hum of insects, and the occasional call of an owl. He was wearing the invisibility cloak, having wrapped it tightly around himself to prevent Snape or Kingsley from seeing anything. He hadn't decided yet how he would act, and he didn't want to give away his presence until exactly the right moment. He had to choose first if he would wait and see what Kingsley planned to do, or if he would attack instantly.

He glanced up at the moon.

He couldn't help thinking back to Andromeda Tonks' words. She told him that his mother and Snape had been friends, that they'd grown up together. And yet, what he had seen in Snape's pensieve had clearly shown something entirely different. How could Snape have betrayed his mother like that? He couldn't even fathom the idea of selling out Ron or Hermione. In fact, he doubted he would ever even be able to betray Aunt Petunia or Dudley, no matter how much he may dislike them.

And yet Snape had betrayed his childhood friend to her death.

He had been so eager for fame and glory that he had destroyed everything in his path. How many had died at his hand? How many more would follow if he was not stopped now?

Unbidden, a memory came to mind, a memory of a conversation he had had with Hermione only a few months after the end of the war.

_"Harry, please. Listen to reason. If you keep running after Snape, he will kill you. He's already taken your parents. Don't give him your life as well."_

_He turned to glare at her in fury and frustration. "You want me to just give up? And what makes you think I won't be able to kill him first?"_

_"Is that what you want?" Hermione asked, looking horrified. "To just kill him in cold blood?"_

_"Like he murdered my parents and Dumbledore! Of course it is what I want." He shook his head and took a few steps away from her, unable to comprehend why she couldn't accept what he wanted to do. What was so wrong with killing Snape? It was justice._

_"It isn't what you parents would have wanted," Hermione protested._

_"How do you know that?" he snarled._

_"Because they would never have wanted you to become a killer on their account!" Hermione cried, and her words echoed in the suddenly still room. Ron and Ginny, who had remained quiet throughout the argument, looked up sharply at her words, but she was staring at Harry, only at him, with a sort of desperation on her face. "Don't you see, Harry? Don't you remember how a Horcrux is made? By killing someone, Harry. That's how you split your soul! You defeated Voldemort without actually casting a killing curse. And now you want to undo that by killing Snape? Your parents would never have wanted that!"_

_"Sometime's killing is justified, Hermione," Ginny said softly, looking between her boyfriend and her Muggle-born friend._

_Hermione turned to Ginny, defiant. "In self-defense. In a battle. Because you have to. Not because you hunted someone down for revenge. Let the Aurors find him. Let him be tried by the Wizengamot. That is justice."_

_"Why don't you wait and get back to me on this topic when it is someone in your family who has died," Harry spat bitterly._

_Hermione stepped back as though she had been slapped. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "One of these days, Harry," she said in a cool tone, "you will remember that I was the one who believed you weren't the Heir of Slytherin despite all those rumors during our second year. And I was the one who stayed by your side in your fourth year when no one, including Ron, believed that you hadn't put your name in the Goblet. Or that I stood up for your during your fifth year when the Ministry was doing everything possible to make you look crazy. And that I was there with you every single step of the way when you were hunting down the Horcruxes. One of these days, Harry, you will remember that I have always been on your side and had your best interests at heart." Without another word, she turned and walked from the room._

_Harry watched her go in a mutinous silence, but then Ron's voice cut into his thoughts._

_"You know, mate, she has a point."_

_"What?" Harry exploded, turning to him in fury._

_"Well..." Ron hedged for a bit, then said quietly, "Remember what you said when you stopped Sirius and Lupin from killing Wormtail in the Shack during your third year?" He hesitated again, then pressed, "You told them that you didn't reckon your father would want them to become murderers. Not because of him."_

Harry tore his gaze away from the night sky and peered into the gloom. The sick feeling twisting in the pit of his stomach did nothing to calm his nerves, but he refused to think over the bubbling guilt he felt. He had made his decision three years ago, and he wasn't going to go back on it now. Snape deserved this, and his parents and Dumbledore deserved to be avenged.

The silence was broken by the sound of a footstep on the ground, a twig breaking with a sharp crack beneath someone's boot. Harry whipped around, holding his breath, waiting. It took only a few moments, and then he saw the outline of a person coming into view.

It was Kingsley.

He had his wand held out in front of him, clearly waiting for something. Or someone. His entire body was tense with anticipation, his eyes darting back and forth through the dense trees. He turned a full circle once or twice, then paused and let his gaze move past the invisible Harry towards the castle outlined against the starry sky.

Something moved in the shadows, and Kingsley whipped around, extending his wand. He murmured quietly under his breath and a bright light burst from the very tip of the wand, illuminating the surrounding area. A figure moved forward, a silhouette barely discernible from between the trees. And then the person stepped out into the light.

And for the first time in three years, after all the fruitless searching and frustrated dead ends, Harry found himself staring at Severus Snape.


	16. Into the Night

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Tempers flare on all sides, and a line is finally drawn.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Into the Night

"What do you want, Shacklebolt?" Snape asked warily, refusing to let his guard down even in front of one of the few people he thought he might actually be able to trust to not break his word. Still, he had been betrayed before, and this would not be the first time that trying to help someone had ended only with his own grief and pain.

"Mrs. Malfoy seems to be under the impression that you are not in any way responsible for the attack on Minerva," Kingsley answered calmly. He, too, was on his guard, wand held tightly in one hand, eyes never leaving the potion Master's sallow face.

"I believe I've already implied as much," Snape replied silkily. "If you did not believe me, why would you believe her?"

"Let us pretend," Kingsley continued, "for the sake of argument that I do believe you. What can you do to help me, Snape? What can you do to help Minerva?"

Snape folded his arms over his chest, wand hanging loosely from his fingers. "What do I get in return?" he demanded. "And how do I know that this is not simply a trap?"

"You don't," Kingsley admitted. "But I also do not know that this isn't a trap, a elaborate plot set up by you and the Malfoys. So I suppose we are both in the same sticky situation, aren't we?"

Snape hesitated, eyes narrowed. "Fine," he said sharply, his tone clearly indicating how little he thought of the other man. "For the sake of argument, we shall pretend that I trust you as well." It seemed as though he was having trouble saying those words, and he spat out the end of the sentence with bitter distaste. "As Narcissa informed you, as I myself told you at our last meeting, I am _not _responsible for the attack on Headmistress McGonagall. But I believe I know who is."

"Do you now? I suppose you still think it is Yaxley and Runcorn? And possibly Hannigan." Kingsley asked quietly. There was no mocking in his voice, no derision. Just honest curiosity, and Snape realized with some vindictive pleasure that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was realizing just how dangerous these enemies were. And that Snape was his best shot at finding them.

Snape nodded. "I do."

"Do you know where they might have her?" Kingsley pressed.

Snape hesitated, then shook his head. "All I have are guesses. Although I imagine they are fairly close to the mark." He turned sharply, his eyes scanning the woods as he thought he heard something sharp, like the sound of footsteps on dried twigs. He saw nothing, and he forced himself to ignore the forest and focus his attention back on Kingsley.

He wanted to find Minerva. And quickly.

"And what are your guesses?"

"What do I get in return?" Snape asked again. He was no fool, and he would not reveal all his cards until he was sure that his own actions would not be what finally hung him.  
"I cannot offer you freedom," Kingsley replied simply. "I have neither the inclination nor the power to do that. What I can tell you is that, should we successfully find Minerva, I will not arrest you then and there. Nor will I go after the Malfoys. You will be given an hour head start to hide wherever you wish, and Mrs. Malfoy and her family will be left alone."

Snape hesitated, clearly torn. He wanted to take the deal, wanted to trust that Kingsley would hold his end of the bargain. But he _didn't_ trust that, not completely. And yet, with Minvera's life in more danger every single minute that they tarried, what else could he do but agree?

Before he could speak, a new voice filled the still air. "How dare you!" And Harry Potter stepped into view, his Invisibility Cloak dropping around his heals, his wand held out in front of him as fury blazed in those green eyes.

Lily's eyes.

"How could you make a deal with him?" Harry asked, venom dripping from every word. "How could you betray us all?" He was staring hard at Kingsley, but his wand was pointed at Snape.

"I trusted you, and you..."

"Harry..." Kingsley started, but Harry did not wait to hear what he would say. Instead, he whirled towards Snape, wand swiping viciously through the air, a silent curse flying towards the potions Master. Snape reacted quickly by throwing up a shield charm, easily blocking Harry's attack. But Harry pressed forward, his rage making his magic more powerful and his next curse blasted through the shield and sent the potions Master careening backwards through the forest.

"Cru-" Harry began.

"No!"

It was Kingsley who reacted first, blocking the Unforgivable. The curse rebounded harmlessly off a nearby tree, causing splinters of wood to rain down on the grassy forest floor. A moment later, the Auror had disarmed Harry, and the two of them stood, bodies heaving with exertion, staring at each other in the the tense night.

"How could you?" Harry said again, and this time his words were quiet, but his voice trembled with emotion. "How could you do this to us?"

Kingsley held Harry's wand loosely and stared for a moment at the black-haired boy. Finally, he said, "You tried to use an Unforgivable, Harry."

Harry slammed his hands into his pockets and glared at Kingsley. "He's a Death Eater. He's a traitor! Dumbledore trusted him, and look what happened. How can you even consider working with him? All he does is betray!"

Kingsley's eyes softened slightly as he heard the unadulterated pain in Harry's voice. He would have liked to be able to say something, anything, to take away that ache, that haunted look in the boy's eyes. But he couldn't. He couldn't help Harry unless the young wizard allowed that help. So he said, "That doesn't excuse an Unforgivable, Harry. You are not an Auror, not yet. You do not have permission to use them." His gaze flicked to Snape, who had risen to his feet and was brushing the dirt from his robe. "Even on him."

Harry shook his head, eyes burning into Kingsley. "Did you know that he used to be friends with my mother? Andromeda Tonks told me. And he betrayed her as well. Just like Dumbledore. Just like everybody else who has ever cared about him."

Snape gave a convulsive shutter at Harry's words, but his movement went unnoticed by the two arguing wizards.

"Harry, you do not get to decide what happens to him! The Ministry does not condone revenge."

"He deserves it!"

"That isn't a decision you get to make," Kingsley cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You need to look at the larger picture."

"What larger picture?"

"Minerva is gone. She could die, and this world cannot afford to lose our Headmistress. Her murder would destabilize the community, would cause widespread panic and fear. We have barely managed to survive these past few years since the end of the war, and I will not let anything, even your desires, jeopardize our future."

"My parents would want him dead. My mother would want him dead!"

"Lily Evans never wished death on anyone, even the most foul of Death Eaters," Snape snarled, the words spilling from his mouth before he could think over what he was saying. Black eyes narrowed at the green ones, and he continued with a furious venom dripping from his voice, "Lily Evans did not hate!"

A ringing silence met those words, a pause in which Snape struggled to regain his tight control and both Kingsley and Harry gaped at him in surprise. But the silence did not last long.

"How dare you speak about my mother!" Although he no longer had his wand, Harry launched himself at Snape, pummeling him with his fists. He was still scrawny, despite being fully grown, but the wrath that burned in his veins gave him a not-quite-human strength, and he was able to physically shove Snape to the ground. The potions Master brought his wand in front of him, finally catching his breath enough to form a quiet spell, and Harry drew back in shock as pain rushed up his arm.

He stumbled to the ground, and Snape rose to his feet, lips curled into a thin smirk.

Uncontrolled wandless magic burst out of Harry with a great flash of white, and Snape was thrown backwards again. He rolled over to his knees, his wand in front of him, just as Harry crawled back to his feet, hands outstretched as though about to attack again. His use of wandless magic was something that unnerved Snape; it was far more powerful than what would normally be expected of a young wizard. The amount of sheer, raw power radiating from him was impressive. And dangerous.

But before another fight could break out...

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand flew from his grasp at the same time that Harry spun around to see Kingsley deftly catching the slim wood. Then the Auror wordlessly waved his own wand at Harry, and the boy crumpled to the ground.

Snape took a hesitant step forward.

"Don't," Kingsley warned, pointing Snape's wand towards the potion Master. "Don't even think about coming closer." He walked over to Harry and knelt by his side, his face marred with concern and disappointment. Slowly, he levitated the body into the air and began to navigate him towards the boundary where the anti-Apparation spells ended. He kept his eyes fixed on Snape the entire time.

At the edge, he turned and tossed Snape's wand back to him. "Stay here," he said coolly. "I'll be back soon."

And he was gone.

Snape paused thoughtfully, staring at the place Shacklebolt had stood. The distrust simmering in the Auror's eyes had not been any surprise to him. But he had been surprised by the vehemence with which he had defended his own actions, as well as the fact that he had prevented Potter from using an Unforgivable. He doubted any harm would come to the Boy Who

Lived for his actions, and certainly not the required lifetime in Azkaban. But he had been impressed by Shacklebolt's emphatic refusal to condone revenge.

His thoughts wandered to Harry. Harry, who was far too powerful for his own good. Power like that had to be controlled, had to be disciplined. It had taken him years to learn that lesson, but he had learned... the hard way. Power fed on more power, only ever increasing the thirst for it, until the unfortunate soul make a terrible mistake.

And he knew about terrible mistakes.

But Potter was not his concern.

And yet... the boy was Lily's child. And...

And he still loved Lily.

He would wait, he decided, for Shaclebolt to return, and then he would accompany the Auror as they attempted to rescue Minerva. He would do this, because he had been unable to save any of the other people he cared about, but he wasn't going to let her come to harm without a fight.

He pocketed his wand and said to the still night, "I am trying to be a better man, Lily. I _am_."

The night held no answers for him, however, and he listened to the wind rustling the trees and sighed. The moon gave a quiet glow, almost peaceful, but he did not feel at peace.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the Invisibility Cloak, discarded where it had fallen at Potter's feet. He walked over to it, lifting it between his fingers and feeling the smooth material against his skin. It could come in handy, he decided, and he pocketed it, slipping it next to his wand.

Then he turned back to his contemplative thoughts. He had told Shacklebolt that he had guesses, and he did. And he prayed that they were right. But what if they weren't? How was he supposed to know? What if they wasted time while Minerva languished in the captivity of Death Eaters? He knew their version of mercy, and he could not wish that on anyone.

_"What are you reading?" Snape asked as he approached Lily.  
_

_She looked up, cheeks flushed in the summer heat, and grinned at her best friend. "Sev! I wasn't sure if you would be able to come."  
_

_"Of course I would come," Snape replied, indignant. "I just..." he shivered, cutting off the sentence, and looked away. "It was hard to get away from my Dad is all. He and my Mum were arguing again."  
_

_"Oh..." Momentary sympathy washed through her eyes, but she quickly put it aside. He tried to smile, he didn't like her sympathy. It felt too much like pity.  
_

_"What are you reading?" he asked again, gesturing to the book in her hands.  
_

_"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," Lily replied. "It's wonderful, Sev! It's so exciting. It's about this magic place called Narnia and the wicked Witch is trying to rule it, but these four children come and want to defeat her." She looked down at the book and said, "Only one of them has just done and joined her because she promised him power."  
_

_Snape blinked. "How can they defeat her if one of them is on her side?"  
_

_Lily smiled again, shaking her head. "Oh, he'll come back to the right side in the end," she said. "He'll see that he was wrong, and he'll apologize. And it will all be okay again." In a conspiratorial whisper, she confided, "I've read this one before. It always works out in the end."  
_

He looked back up at the moon, and sighed.

"If only it was that simple, Lily. If only real life was that simple."

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and blinked. The first thing he noticed was that he was lying on something rather lumpy. The next thing he noticed was the blurry red-headed thing hovering above him.

He blinked again.

Mrs. Weasley's concerned face swam into view.

"Harry, dear!"

"Uh... Mrs. Weasley?" He sat up, stretching slowly, and realized he was in the Burrow. Sunlight was streaming through the window, red and gold. Dawn was just breaking over the horizon. The events of the previous night came rushing back suddenly, and he snapped his head around, eyes widening. "Snape!"

"Yes, yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, somewhat distracted. She placed a hand on his forehead, frowning at the heat of his skin. "How do you feel?"

"How did I get here?" Harry demanded.

"Kingsley brought you," a new, deeper voice said, and Arthur Weasley stepped into the room. He looked tired, his weary features drooping slightly. "How do you feel, Harry? You were unconscious for a while."

"I'm fine," Harry said, forcing himself to smile reassuringly at the two adults. "Really. It's nothing to worry about. I was just..." He trailed off, his face suddenly tightening. "Just stunned." By Kingsley.

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley agreed. "Well, let me get you some breakfast." And she bustled away, into the kitchen.

"Are Ron or Ginny here?"

"No," Mr. Weasley answered calmly. "Ron is back at your flat. And Ginny has her first shift shadowing a Healer at St. Mungo's. It was a night shift, she'd probably just finishing now."

"Oh... okay."

"Harry, we need to talk," Mr. Weasley said, his tone grave.

Harry settled back into the sofa, knowing exactly what was coming. "Alright," he agreed, but the word was tinged with annoyance, an emotion that was not lost on the older of the two men.

"Harry, this is not the first time you've attempted to use Dark magic," Mr. Weasley began. "All of the times that you have done that... at least, those that I am aware of... you have been acting on instinct and emotion. It is not premeditated, Harry, and that is incredibly important. Because the fact that it is not premeditated means that the Minister of Magic and Kingsley can continue to cover for you. But you must understand that such magic is not acceptable. And you need to learn to control your temper before you do something that we cannot fix."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, but it was difficult. Instead, he said quietly, "The only times I have lost my temper and used that kind of magic are around Death Eaters. Once Snape is gone..."

"You used Dark magic on Draco Malfoy," Mr. Weasley countered, "and he has been exonerated."

Harry snorted. "He's hardly innocent. He was a Death Eater, we all know that."

"And when the Wizengamot and the Ministry declare him no longer accountable, it is not up to you to challenge their proclamation. Whatever Draco Malfoy was then, he is not a Death Eater now. And you do not have the right to impose your own ideas of justice on a society that has decided differently."

Harry forced himself to remain calm as he countered, "Society is wrong. And this won't be the first time the Ministry has made a mistake."

"Minister Diggory is not Minister Fudge," Mr. Weasley said sharply in a tone that Harry had never heard before, "and Kingsley is not Madam Umbridge." He took a breath and exhaled slowly, then said, "Yes, there are times that you must circumvent the law. But those times are rare indeed. Nobody in the Order did something like that without discussing it with others. We did not... do not... make decisions solely on our own."

"But I did. I _had _to," Harry countered, jumping to his feet as all signs of calmness were lost. His temper flared behind his eyes and he forgot that he never yelled at these people, that he never treated the two Weasley parents with anything less than the respect and love that they deserved. "Dumbledore left _me _with the task of killing Voldemort. The prophesy said I was the only one who could defeat him. I had to hunt down the Horcruxes on my own. I had to do everything _alone_!"

"You weren't alone," Percy Weasley snapped as he walked into the room, Ginny trailing behind. "You dragged my brother and Hermione Granger into that danger with you."

Harry spun on Percy, shaking with rage. Before he could say anything, however, Ginny interrupted, forestalling the impending argument.

"Harry? What's going on?" Ginny asked, glancing between her older brother and her furious boyfriend. "What are you doing here?" She, too, looked tired. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and her robe and cloak were rumpled. There was something moving behind her eyes, something Harry couldn't quite identify. But he knew her well enough to know that her first night of following Penelope Clearwater around the hospital had not gone well.

"Nothing," Harry muttered, not wanting to have to defend his actions to yet another person.

"He broke into Hogwarts and interrupted official Ministry business by trying to use an Unforgivable on Snape," Percy explained to Ginny, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "It is hardly nothing."

"How did you...?" Arthur started curiously, worriedly.

Percy sighed. "I was at the Ministry finishing up some last minute letters when Auror Shacklebolt stopped by. He told the Minister what had happened. Or, at least, some of it." He turned to Harry and added coldly, "They think because you were not able to finish the curse, the imprint of it won't show up on your wand. You are lucky."

"Does Amos know that Kingsley went after Snape?"

"Yes. But not why," Percy answered. "At this point, no one seems to know what exactly is going on. Between the accusations against the Malfoys and Auror Shacklebolt's refusal to arrest them..." He trailed off with a tired sigh. "People are clambering for explanations. The Minister is worried."

"Do other people know about Kingsley?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her tone unnaturally serious as she reentered the room carrying a tray laden with toast.

"Not yet," Percy said grimly. "But it is only a matter of time."

"But what is he doing?" Ginny asked, still not understanding the conversation. She had so far determined that her boyfriend may or may not be in trouble, but the rest was over her head.

"He's working with Snape!" Harry spat, shaking his head. "He's going to let the greasy git go free."

"Did he say he was going to do that?" Mr. Weasley asked, confused. He sincerely doubted that Kingsley would just let a traitor defy justice. More importantly, Kingsley did not have the power or the popularity to do so, as he well knew. He would not attempt something that would only throw the world into greater disarray.

"He as good as said it," Harry retorted. "He told Snape..."

"He told Snape?" Percy asked softly, pointedly. "You are trusting what he said to Snape? How do you know this isn't a trap of some kind? Why would you believe what he told _Snape_?"

"Lay off, Perce!" Ginny said, glowering at her brother. "Stop attacking Harry just because you're annoyed that I don't like Penelope Clearwater."

Percy retorted with a fire of his own, "Don't bring Penny into this. And I am not upset about it. I don't care what you think of her."

Anyone who knew Percy well knew that his statement was a boldfaced lie. Since the quarrel and eventual reconciliation with his family, Percy had cared about his sibling's opinions And he liked Penny, loved her even. And he wanted his family to feel the same about her. But his pride kept him from admitting just how much Ginny's approval would have meant to him, and he could not keep the anger from his voice.

It disguised the hurt.

"Well, that's good, because nobody's going to like her until she learns to start being friendly and stop being such a arrogant brat..."

"You are not there to be friendly with her," Percy hissed. "You are there to learn!"

"She should be friendly to me. She should want to be friendly to me. She's my brother's girlfriend and if you're going with her..."

"I've been going with her since my sixth year at Hogwarts and you never cared before," Percy said, his tone glacial.

A complete silence met those words, and then Mrs. Weasley ventured hesitantly, "So your first days wasn't as much fun as you had hoped, dear?"

"It's Healing," Percy muttered under his breath. "It isn't supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be _useful_."

Ginny ignored him. "The Healer I'm shadowing barely speaks to me, Mum," she said. "Just ignored me most of the time. Unless she's pointing out everything I do wrong."

Percy ran a hand over his face. He'd spoken to Penny briefly that night. He had purposefully arranged it so that he would be in his office when she would be taking her break, and she'd been grateful for that. It wasn't going well. They'd both known it wouldn't, there was too much baggage for Penny and Ginny, both of whom had easily aggravated tempers, to work professionally together. Ginny had been sour and Penny had been short and curt and occasionally downright rude and now... It was frustrating because under any other circumstance, the two of them might have gotten along very well indeed. They had enough in common and their personalities, though quite different, were still compatible.

But Penny could not let go of her anger at what she perceived was ill-treatment of her boyfriend, and Ginny could not completely forgive Percy for all the things he had said and done.  
Percy let out a long breath, wishing the tension could as easily drain from his body.

"No wonder she and Percy get along so well," Harry sniped.

"Harry, you need to stop thinking about yourself!" Percy countered harshly. "You can't just rush into something and start cursing people left and right. Don't you see what you could have done?"

"Besides succeeding in catching the traitor?" Harry asked.

"You could have gotten yourself or Auror Shacklebolt killed. You didn't know what was going to happen when you rushed to Hogwarts. You didn't know what might have been planned. You put yourself and a member of the Ministry in grave danger, and you still act like this isn't a problem. Like you aren't at fault!"

"And Merlin forbid we put your precious Ministry in danger," Ginny muttered.

Percy shook his head, then turned and left the room.

He was done here.


	17. Reckless Abandon

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, I am going out of town (out of the country, actually) for a month. And I won't have access to Internet, or even a computer, for most of my travels. Which means there will probably not be another update on this story until mid-September. But I'll try to get a chapter written as soon as possible after I return.

Summary: "Decent people are so easy to manipulate."

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Reckless Abandon

The first glow of the early morning sun had begun to shine over the distant horizon line. The hills were lined in red and yellow, and the moon was slowly descending from the night sky. A few streaks of color, light blues and pale gray, flooded through the inky sky, forcing the stars to fade back into the distance.

The house was silent. It was more of a Manor than a house, or perhaps more of a mansion. The roof was studded with turrets, and two towers rose to be silhouetted against the rising sun. The grounds spread out around the house, dark and dreary, ill-kept. The air was heavy with dew and the scent of sulfur.

It was not a place, Kingsley reflected, that he would ever wish to visit.

"It belonged to the Blacks," Snape murmured, his wand held tightly in his hand as he stared at the rusty gates that bared their path. "That was long ago, however. It passed into the hands of the Yaxleys' through marriage perhaps five or six decades ago." A smirk tugged at his lips as he added, "To Bellatrix's great displeasure, of course." The Dark witch had always despised seeing her family's possession land in the hands of others, and her time in Azkaban had only served to strengthened that dislike.

Her vicious attitude had turned him against her from their very first meeting. She was perhaps the only one of the Dark Lord's followers who he truly hated. Serving Dumbledore had always left him with the uneasy feeling of betraying people who had once accepted him, but when he thought of Bellatrix, his doubts would quickly fade. As his hatred of her grew, so did his desire to taunt her, and he had used this particular quirk of hers to get under her skin.

Many times.

_"Have you seen the splendor of Yaxley's home?" Mrs. Goyle murmured as she pulled open the door to her rather distasteful looking home and gestured for her husband, Snape, Bellatrix, and Avery to follow her inside. She was not a Death Eater, although she knew perfectly well what her husband did in his spare time. She was plain-looking, and had a foolish desire to fantasize about luxury and wealth. But in her day-to-day actions, she was also practical and efficient, and had earned some of Snape's respect through the no-nonsense demeanor she presented to the world._

_She was in interesting study in contrasts, a contradiction of sorts._

_Bellatrix snorted in disgust. "It is too gaudy. He does not take care of it, shows no appreciation for true wizarding tastes."_

_"But so lavish," Snape drawled. "So perfectly arranged for entertaining."_

_"What use do we have to entertain?" Bellatrix retorted fiercely, eyes flashing with a dangerous glow._

_"Ah... I see your time in Azkaban has removed from you some of the finer traits of humanity," Snape sneered, meeting her gaze. "Pity."_

_"What do you know of the finer traits of humanity, Snape?" Bellatrix spat. "You live like scum in a place not even fit for Mudbloods!"_

_"Please," Mrs. Goyle cut in, "enough of this." She gestured to the dining room. "Take a seat at the table, and I will bring you refreshments."_

_"This is not a time for a party!" Bellatrix snapped at the hostess. "We have work that needs be done."_

_"I am sure the dining room will serve adequately for those purposes," Snape said smoothly, giving the faintest of nods to Mrs. Goyle. In a voice low enough for only Bellatrix to hear, he added, "Not as well as Yaxley's, of course. But I suppose not all of us can have houses like his." With a smirk, he twisted the figurative knife just a little deeper, "I am glad to see such a place pass into the hands of a proper wizarding family who can adequately take care of the place."_

_"How dare you!" Bellatrix cried, reaching for her wand. But whatever curse she might have cast - and Snape knew it would not have been pleasant - was interrupted by the sudden burning sensation on their arms. _

_The Dark Lord was calling._

"And now it passes from Uncle to Nephew," Kingsley said as he pointed his wand at the air and muttered a few incantations. After a moment's pause, he turned to Snape. "It's well guarded."

"Yaxley's no fool. Particularly if he has Runcorn to guide him," Snape agreed. "The place will have many wards and other hidden traps."

The two wizards stared at each other, both thinking the exact same thing. In a house such as this, the various hidden dangers would create a perfect environment for one to ensnare and betray the other. They would both need to be on their guards and watch their backs if they had any hope to come out of this alive and in one piece.

"You are sure Minerva is in here?"

Snape nodded. "I've considered all other possibilities. It was possible, for a while, that they would have kept her at Runcorn's. It is now unlikely, however, as he is under some suspicion from Abbott. I suppose the man is actually good for something." Snape curled his lip as he muttered Abbott's name, as though the very word was distasteful. He did not think highly of the man.

Kingsley had to stifle a smile and remind himself that this was not a colleague or a friend, this was the Traitor, the enemy. But he, too, was not thrilled with Abbott's appointment to a rather powerful position within the Ministry. The brutal murder of his wife had left Abbott unhinged in the way that only grief and pain can, and his desire to revenge often clouded his judgement.

"Come," Snape said finally, and he pointed his wand at the gate. It sprung open, the rusty hinges protesting against such movement with a stiff and grating whine. Kingsley winced as the sharp noise cut through the still air, but Snape seemed almost to not hear it. He was focused instead on the ground beyond the gate, on the twisting path, lined with large stones and overgrown with weeds, that led to the house.

The two of them walked forward, passing through the gate together.

A burst of flame erupted behind them, illuminating the sky in a single flash of light. Kingsley jumped, but reacted fast enough to extinguish the fire with a spout of water from his wand. Snape, too, appeared startled. His beady eyes widened, then narrowed.

"Interesting," Snape mused.

Kingsley drew a breath. "We were nearly roasted, Snape. How is that interesting?"

"Fire spouts are no longer common as a guarding mechanism," Snape replied idly, paying little attention to Kingsley. The senior Yaxley had always had rather sadistic taste, and had used more lethal protective enchantments. His cruelty was rivalled only by Bellatrix and, as legend would have it, Crouch Jr. Snape had never known the younger Death Eater personally, except, of course, when he pretended to be Mad-Eye. But those who had crossed paths with him before the Dark Lord's first downfall found his temper and knowledge of obscure Dark Arts disturbing.

Kingsley, noting that Snape was lost in his own thoughts, interrupted pointedly, "Grindelwald used them."

Snape shrugged. "Did he now?" he asked, not particularly interested.

"Oh, did Lord Voldemort not have you study all the past Dark Lords?" Kingsley asked sardonically. "I would have thought he would be interested in his predecessors."

"The Dark Lord was not interested in the petty schemes of those who had already been defeated," Snape answered grimly. It had been his downfall, of course, paying little attention to the lives and magics of others. In his arrogant belief that he alone could rule, he had brought about his own defeat.

The two resumed walking. The path finally became so overgrown that they could see nothing but weeds and grass. Kinglsey squinted through the dim light, trying to identify anything that might resemble a walkway, but finally they were forced to abandon it all together and push through the tall grass and muddy ground towards the house.

There was no light on in any window. There was nothing but darkness staring back at them from the manor, a darkness that was both physical and magical. As they grew closer, Kingsley could already feel some sixth sense warning him of the dangers that lurked inside. What would they encounter in this home? Dark relics and spells, perhaps?

He exhaled and slanted a look at Snape. So far, the enigmatic wizard had only managed to further confuse him. He did not trust Snape, but he could not understand why this traitor would profess to care about Minerva. Or was he only doing this to seek revenge against Yaxley and Runcorn for attempting to incriminate him? And that raised a different question; why would two former supporter's of Voldemort's reign want to bring about the fall of their Lord's greatest servant? And how did the Malfoys factor into this chaotic mess?

Was he a fool to trust Snape?

Or was he just desperate to save Minerva before it was too late?

He knew what would happen if she were to die. She was one of the few symbols of hope left. A woman who had stayed at Hogwarts to protect her students even though she knew the school was being run by a madman, even though her presence there only served to put her in more danger. Dumbledore's right hand, and now Hogwart's Headmistress. A war hero, and one of the bravest women he had ever met.

If she died - particularly at the hands of Death Eaters - people like Abbott would use the opportunity to throw the world into chaos in their desire for revenge. And no world, no matter how strong it was, could survive if the people were driven by nothing more than vengeance.

He was shaken abruptly from his thoughts as Snape caught his hand tightly and yanked him backwards. He stumbled, nearly falling to his knees, and threw out his hands to balance himself. At the same time, Snape whispered something under his breath and pointed his wand at the place Kingsley had stood moments before. A light flickered briefly from his wand, and the two just barely caught sight of something slithering away through the grass.

"A snake?" Kingsley asked curiously.

Snape shook his head. "Pytho."

Kingsley blinked, his mind running over that word in an effort to determine why it sounded so familiar. Finally, forced to admit defeat, he said tersely, "Explain."

"They're like snakes, but much deadlier. They say it is bad luck to have one cross your path. A omen of sorts."

Kinglsey shivered and looked back at the house. He did not believe in most legends and myths, but in a place such as this, he could not help but feel that perhaps these beliefs held more sway over the subsequent events. Pytho, he remembered suddenly, was a snake that Hera, Queen of the Greek Gods, sent to chase the woman her husband Zeus had gotten pregnant. Leto, very pregnant with the twin gods Apollo and Artemis, could find no place to rest. He did not remember how the myth ended, only that the twins were eventually born.

"How do you know about these creatures?' Kingsley asked as they resumed hurrying through the grass. "We never learned about them at Hogwarts."

"They're Dark Creatures," Snape replied, "but too rare to warrant any time spent on them in Defense Against the Dark Arts." He glanced at Kingsley for a moment, expression unreadable. "I learned about them outside of school."

_"Oh!"_

_Eileen Snape nearly jumped out of her seat as the rustle of something passed by her feet. She licked her lips nervously and peered under the table just in time to see the tail of the creature disappear into a hole in the ground. Her face paled._

_"What is it?" Snape asked from where he sat on the floor, sorting through a box of Chocolate Frogs that his mother had managed to sneak into the house for him. His father didn't like having this kind of 'wizard rubish' around, so Snape knew he would need to be careful to keep it hidden. But his father had gone out drinking, and would not be home for several hours, so it seemed safe to pull them out now._

_"Nothing, Severus," his mother replied quickly, giving him a little smile that did not reach her eyes. Under her breath, she whispered, "A Pytho?" and the word stuck in Snape's mind._

_"What is a Pytho?" he asked._

_She shook her head. "Go on eating, Severus."_

_And then the door flew open and Tobias stood there, outlined by the falling sun, eyes blazing with anger. He was mumbling something about being cheated out of his rightful money, and how he had to come home early, and couldn't a man earn a single day off from work...?_

_Eileen was still looking in the direction the creature had disappeared._

_Then Tobias caught sight of the Chocolate Frogs, and his anger turned into cold fury._

Kingsley wondered, but did not press the issue. They paused, only a few feet away from the door to the house. The wood was dark, and even darker in some places where the water had caused soft patches to form. In the early morning light, Kingsley could just make out the carvings along the door frame. A great snake twisted up one side of the door, and the words _pure in heart, pure in mind, pure in blood_ ran down the other.

Snape pushed the door open. It was not locked.

Kinglsey hesitated, then followed the potions Master into the entryway. He was surprised they had encountered no one on their way. His initial analysis of the situation had revealed protective enchantments and wards all along the grounds, and yet so far they had come relatively unscathed.

He was worried.

And the moment he stepped into the house, his worries were confirmed. A sudden magical wind rushed past him, and then something hit him in the stomach and a burning sensation spread through his body. He blinked once in an effort to force back the pain, and saw that his torso was covered in tiny creatures, glowing like fireflies, that had eaten away his shirt and were now attacking his skin. Through the haze of pain he managed to register the absurdity of the situation - was he really being eaten alive by flies? - and cast a well-placed freezing charm.

The pain alleviated immediately.

Snape had not been as lucky. Standing in front of Kingsley, he had absorbed the brunt of the attack from these little menaces, and now his entire chest, arms, and neck were covered in angry red bites. He was struggling to maintain a grip on his wand as the little devil-like creatures attempted to pry it from his hand.

Kingsley froze them as well.

Snape let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall.

In the awkward silence that followed, both wizards attempted to heal their own cuts and repair their torn clothing.

After a moment, Snape said curtly, "Let's go."

Kingsley followed, brooding. He had hardly expected a thank you from Snape, but still... any display of gratitude might have been nice, given the situation and the amount of potentially foolish trust he was placing in the potions Master's intentions.

The hallway spread out in front of them, branching off to both the left and the right. A grand staircase, carpeted in what must have once been luxurious white Angora, spiraled around to the right as well. The rug was now moth-eaten and ragged along the edges. Like the rest of the house, it held the aura of something that had been beautiful once, but had long since fallen into disrepair.

Kingsley thought of Bellatrix. He'd known her before her trial and imprisonment in Azkaban. She had been a stunning beauty, perhaps even more than her sister. Where Narcissa was pale and delicate, Bellatrix was dark and full of fire and vitality. The Dark Arts had claimed her some of sanity, but Azkaban had destroyed it completely, taking with it her all beauty as well.

The house would have been fitting for her, he thought grimly. And as the oldest of the Blacks, had it stayed in the family's posession, it might have passed along to her. It was rather ironic, actually.

"They'll be keeping Minerva some place hidden," Snape mused, searching the darkness for any sign of movement as he weighed their options.

"You know so much about the house," Kingsley remarked bitterly, "didn't Yaxley confide all the hiding places to you while you served Voldemort with him?"

Snape replied with a drawl, "Contrary to popular belief, serving the Dark Lord was not a social club. We did not gossip about irrelevant facts."

"No, of course not," Kingsley agreed mockingly. "You wouldn't want to take time away from planning how to torture people?" His voice, raising just above a whisper at the end, echoed in the hallway, bouncing off the walls and floating back to them like a horrific refrain.

"...torture people... torture people... torture people..."

Snape winced, but did not reply. At length, he said, "If you wish to waste time with your petty insults and vapid remarks, by all means, go ahead. I, however, would like to find Minerva."

Kingsley refrained from commenting that he hardly thought denouncing the Dark Arts could be considered petty or valid. Instead, he noted that, once again, Snape had referred to the Headmistress by her first name. But he had little time to contemplate what that meant because Snape was already moving towards the door at the far right end of the hallway.

"What's in that door?" Kingsley demanded in a low whisper.

"The servants staircase," Snape replied. "It leads to the basement."

"Do you really think they are holding her captive in the basement?" Kingsley asked incredulously. Someone as smart as Runcorn, someone who had evaded landing in Azkaban, would hardly hide their most-wanted prisoner in plain sight in a basement.

"The dungeons are down there as well," Snape explained.

Kingsley gaped at him. "Yaxley has _dungeons_?"

"The Blacks originally built the dungeons two centuries ago," Snape replied vaguely, shrugging. "I suppose they thought the dungeons would be useful."

Kingsley snorted. "_Useful_," he muttered, shaking his head. As Snape extended his hand towards the doorknob once more, however, the Auror interrupted sharply and caught his wrist. "This is a bad idea."

"Why?" Snape asked, yanking his wrist out of Kingsley's grip.

"Because," Kingsley answered, his patience wearing thin, "You cannot just rush off into the enemy's lair. Particularly since we do not know for certain what we will find down there. We need a plan."

Snape retorted silkily, "Then tell me, Auror, what is your plan?"

"At the very least, we want to be invisible," Kingsley replied. "Disillusionment charm."

Snape smirked and reached into the folds of his robe, pulling a thin, silvery material from his pocket. "I can do better than that, Shacklebolt," he sneered in reply, extending the Cloak he had taken from the Forbidden Forest. While Kingsley had been delivering Potter back to the Weasleys, he had noticed the faint moonlight glinting of the metallic material, and had quickly pocketed it, deciding it might come in handy. "I doubt Potter will be needing this any time soon."

Kingsley wrinkled his nose in distaste at the idea of using stolen property, but he could not deny the Cloak had its uses. Unlike camouflage spells, it would keep them completely protected from any sets of eyes, even the most sharp, even those that belonged to various magical creatures. "Very well," he agreed, stepping closer to Snape so that they would both be hidden by the magical object.

They were covered, and then Snape pushed the door open.

What greeted them was nothing more than an empty staircase that circled downwards, disappearing into the gloom. The walls were heavily laden with mold and mildew, the air thick with dust. The corners were covered in cobwebs and something moved along the railing, something small and dark with several sets of legs.

A good Auror learned to study a location before engaging in any form a combat. A good Auror learned to rely on more than just hopes and wishes, and on more than adrenaline and instinct. They were important, yes, but so was logical and rational and the ability to think through each step before rushing headlong into danger. Likewise, a good spy knew that the tiniest slip up, the smallest mistake, could be the fatal clue that lead to discovery. A good spy had to understand the probabilities and likelihoods of any given action and plan for every possibility. Because the absolute worst move an Auror or a spy could make was one that did not have a contingency plan.

Snape stepped onto the staircase, his foot almost passing through the rotten wood. He levitated himself a few feet in the air, and heard Kingsley muttered a hovering charm on his shoes to propell him into the air. Then the two of them glided down the staircase.

Without any idea of what might lie ahead.

At the bottom of the stairs, they paused. The basement was quiet. Thin slivers of morning light pressed their way through the tiniest of windows along the very top of the walls. The floor was wet and slippery, and something green was growing along the corners.

The still silence was broken suddenly, with the first sounds of music. A few bars, perhaps no louder than a faint hum, filled the air. Snape turned sharply, seeking out the source of the sound. But before he could find it, he shook away the notion. What harm could a few notes bring? It was sweet, actually, and harmonic, a beautiful twisting of melody and harmony. Each note was so clear it seemed to hover in the air for eternity even as the others joined it.

He smiled, serene, content. He could have stood there and listened to the music all day.

The Invisibility Cloak slid to the floor.

Kingsley, too, let his guard down as he heard the charming sounds. His wand fell from his limp fingers, but he saw no reason to retrieve it. Who could harm him here, in this place? Who would think of violence or treachery instead of listening to this song? He sagged against a wall, and barely felt the dampness of the stone. He smiled, at peace.

_Get up, Sev!_

Snape started at the voice.

_Don't you know? Dark and Beautiful things are dangerous! You must fight. This is not the time to sit back and be complacent._

But the song was so gentle, so endearing, how could he fight it? Why would he fight it?

Something flashed before his eyes. A sudden burst of red and green, and then the smell of flowers. Lilies.

_Get up, Sev! Don't give up now. You're so close._

Every muscle in his body protested the movement, but he could hear Lily's voice urging him on, and he would do what she wished no matter what it cost him. His legs were stiff and leaden, his fingers so rubbery he could barely hold his wand. The blood was pounding in his ears, and his mind screamed at him not to do this. But Lily had asked, and how could he deny her what she wished? He extended his arm, hand shaking with the strain of completely the movement, and muttered, "Protego," in a weak and trembling voice.

It was enough.

The moment the shield charm sprung into place, the music disappeared. Snape, coming back to logic and rational with a resounding thud echoing in his head, waved his wand once more and destroyed the source of the music - an old box sitting on the floor underneath the far window.

Kingsley blinked and rubbed the back of his head. It took him a moment longer to return to reality, but he inhaled sharply the moment he realized just what had happened, and what could have happened had Snape not been able to fight off the cursed music. He swallowed nervously, awkwardly. But like Snape with the flesh-eating bugs, he chose not to express gratitude.

Instead, a different thought was forming. A new one, filled with terrifying consequences. "Nothing has been unbeatable," he murmured, searching distractedly for his wand amidst the gloom. "Nothing has been lethal, even. It's been almost... too easy."

Kingsley and Snape's eyes met, and in that moment they both knew something was wrong.

And then Snape felt his wand flying from his hand. He spun around just in time to see Yaxley emerge from the shadows, his normally cold face twisted into an expression of gloating triumph. He caught Snape's wand with ease, and then pressed his heel against the center of Kingsley's wand, snapping it in two where it lay on the stone floor. Behind him, Runcorn appeared, dragging a half-conscious Minerva with him. His wand was pressed against her neck, biting into her throat.

"You are later than I expected," Yaxley said slowly, frowning at Kingsley and Snape. "Still... I am so glad you showed up. We've been waiting for you." Runcorn gave a little smile of amusement as Minerva's eyes went wide with shock at the sight of her two unlikely rescuers, and Yaxley added, "Decent people are _so_ easy to manipulate."


	18. Alea Iacta Est

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: _Alea Iacta Est_ is Latin. It means _the die is cast_, and it is reportedly what Julius Caesar said when he lead the Roman Army into Italy against the wishes of the Senate and began a civil war that would end with the destruction of the Roman Republic and begin the Roman Empire with himself as dictator.  
Summary: The die is finally cast, and the wizarding world is plunged back into the depths of a war it thought it had already won.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Alea Iacta Est

_"Hello, Narcissa."_

__

The blonde witch let her mouth fall open in shock as she stared at the woman before her. It was as though she was looking at a warped reflection of her own sister, for the Bellatrix she had known before Azkaban did not have these hollow cheekbones and sunken eyes. But this was her sister, completely and utterly and in every way. This was her sister... and yet so changed.

"Bella."

The dark-haired woman swept into Malfoy Manor, pushing past her sister. "I see your husband was able to buy his way out of Azkaban," she sneered haughtily.  
Narcissa swallowed. "You escaped."

"Indeed," Bellatrix answered pointedly. "And so I came to pay my dear sister a visit." She let her eyes roam over the elaborate and lavish furnishings. "You have done well, Cissy."

"It is good to see you, Bella," Narcissa said finally, praying her voice would not shake. She was not sure if the emotion she felt was relief that her sister was still alive and at least partially sane, or fear that one of the most wanted Dark Witches had just walked into her house... and what if someone had seen?

Bellatrix turned and looked at her sharply. After a moment, she relented. "It is good to see you as well. Better than seeing our cursed Muggle-loving sister."

Narcissa thought briefly of Andromeda. "Indeed."

"If your husband home?"

Narcissa shook her head. "He is speaking to Severus about something. I am not sure what the details are..." She trailed off with a sigh.

"That Traitor?" Bellatrix spat.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow delicately. "The Dark Lord trusts him," she replied. "And so does Lucius. He is a good friend to us."

Bellatrix snorted. "Indeed," she said skeptically, but did not press the issue. "And you are still true to our cause, are you not?"

"Of course," Narcissa said hurriedly. "I... of course." She thought of Draco, a brief thought that lingered no more than a moment. She wanted to protect her son, but if this was the way to fame and glory... She lowered her gaze, praying her sister would not see the indecision in her eyes. She cared less about the Dark Arts than her husband, and less about the Dark Lord than her sister. She cared more about Draco than either of them.

Her answer seemed to satisfy Bellatrix however, and the near-insane witch gave a short cackle and said, "Good."

Narcissa forced herself to meet her sister's gaze and not look away.

* * *

Snape swallowed uneasily and eyed the two men before him. They were gloating, mocking him in their triumph. His gaze flickered quickly to his wand, clutched tightly in the fist of the enemy, then back to their faces.

"Let her go," Snape said finally, breaking the tense silence. He sincerely doubted they would listen to him, but he had to at least try.

Runcorn chortled unpleasantly. "Why?" He jabbed his wand sharply at Snape, and the potion Master had to use all his will power not to flinch away from the weapon. Instead, he continued to stare boldly at Runcorn while the other wizard continued, "You are hardly in a position to make demands, _traitor_."

Kingsley sent Snape a questioning look, but Snape ignored it. Now was not the time for explanations. Not that either the Auror or the Headmistress would even believe what he had to say.

Minerva, pale with shock and the pain of captivity, slumped forward slightly, nearly falling to the floor. Runcorn grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her roughly into the center of the room, and she stumbled against Kingsley. He caught her, holding her upright, while still watching the two men before him with a calculating stare.

"What do you want, Runcorn?" Snape demanded viciously. He had decided that Runcorn was probably the leader of the two, and therefore the one to address.  


"Your suffering, Snape," Runcorn hissed, "just as you made us suffer." His cold eyes burned with an intense fire as he continued, "You arrogant fool. You thought you were fooling us for so long, didn't you? But we have the upper hand now."

Yaxley nodded in agreement, a sly grin spreading over his face. "You made a great show of how clever you were, didn't you? Tricking the Aurors into leaving Spinner's End unguarded so that you could meet Hannigan there. Using Malfoy to alert the Ministry that we were after the Elder Wand. You wanted to flaunt it all, to intimidate us. You wanted to show us that you were cunning, that you were more powerful than we were. But you aren't. Like a fool, you left your weak spot open." His eyes flicked to Minerva, a cruel smile now twisting his lips, before looking back to Snape. "Cleverness will only take you so far, traitor."

"So instead of us falling into your traps, Snape," Runcorn added, his voice laced with unabashed glee, "you now fall into ours."

Kingsley chanced a quick look at the potions Master and saw that his sallow face had turned pale with fear. Something was flickering in the depths of those black eyes, but the Auror was not quite sure what it was. All he knew was that they were in peril, and without their wands, they had no way out.

Traitor. Why were they convinced Snape was a traitor? Why did they hate him so much? Kingsley kept his gaze squarely on Runcorn as he contemplated this question. He knew far too little, and if there was any chance of survival, he would need a much better idea of what was happening now. Was this just a battle between two different factions of Dark Wizards, or was Snape actually on his side? The answer to that would explain everything else, if only he knew what to think...

But everything that had happened... they had been played. The note to Hermione tying Snape and the Malfoys together, it had to have been either Runcorn or Yaxley. The warning that Minerva and Diggory were in danger, the attack on Minerva herself... He looked over at the Headmistress. Yaxley had insinuated that Minerva was Snape's weakness. He had known that Snape would attempt to save her, if she were to be attacked. And all of this had been a plan to bring Kingsley, Diggory, and Snape together so that when Minerva was hurt... they would come to her rescue... and right into a trap.

Was the Minister in danger?

_Decent people are so easy to manipulate._They had known this would happen. They had planned it. It had all been one elaborate trap, a plot to ensnare them... Were the Malfoys in it as well? Or were they innocent bystanders, used as a means to an end by Runcorn and Yaxley? And what was this end? What did they want? What were they trying to do?

What would happen now?

"Enjoy the next few minutes," Yaxley sneered, "because they will be your last." And then a flash of red light burst from his wand, and the three prisoners fell into the blackness of sleep.

* * *

The hallway was silent. Hannigan swallowed nervously as he stood there, waiting for the right moment, for the signal. The silence unnerved him, although he doubted it held any significance. It was early in the morning, and few would be at the Ministry now, save perhaps the Minister himself and a few assistants, one or two Aurors, and the night watchmen. He rubbed the tips of his fingers together in anticipation, and reached into his pocket to withdraw his wand.

Soon. Just a few more moments, just until the signal and then... everything would be his.

A shadow moved along the wall, a face was revealed. Hannigan let out a long, slow breath. "Is it done?"

The man gave a brief smile. "It is," he answered simply, bowing his head. He held out the wand he had used, the only proof to link him to this crime, and with a twist of his fingers, he snapped it in half. "The Ministry is yours for the taking."

And he melted away, fading into the dark.

Hannigan turned towards the door at the far end of the hallway just as a shout of fear pierced through the still air. A cry of horror, anger filling each word. A scream, the sound of footsteps, the pops of people appearing, the burst of green flames from the Floo network...

_"He's dead! Diggory is dead. The Minister has been killed."_

Hannigan smiled.

* * *

Everything went up in chaos.

The air was filled with the sounds of shouting, of panic, of fear. Harry was not sure how news had managed to spread this quickly, but somehow every single witch or wizard seemed to know that Minister Diggory had been found murdered in his office. There was no trace of the killer, not even a single clue to point towards a guilty party.

The argument with Mr. Weasley and Percy still weighed heavily on his mind, but now it had been pushed aside so forcefully by the events that had just transpired. Mr. Weasley had been alerted as soon as Amos Diggory's body was found, and Harry had quickly followed the older wizard through the Floo to the Ministry. And now he was being jostled, shoved, pushed about, as everyone clamored to be heard.

Through the crowded entrance hall, he caught sight of bushy brown hair. Weaving through the crowd, he struggled against the tide until he finally reached Hermione. She turned towards him, eyes wide with incredulity at all that had just happened, and caught his arm tightly just as he was about to be swept away by the masses.

"Harry!" she breathed, obviously relieved to see him. "Have you seen Ron? Ginny? Did they come with you?"

"Ginny did," Harry answered. "She's with Mr. Weasley. But I don't know about Ron. He might still be at our flat."

The brunette witch nodded, but still looked uneasy. Harry recognized the emotion she tried to mask, and admitted silently to himself that he was just as worried. The death of the Minister would send this world spiraling back into the chaotic frenzy that they had tried so hard to prevent after Voldemort's death. Everything was unknown right now, and he would have liked to have Ron here, just to know his best mate was safe, just to have his support.

Someone pushed against Hermione, and she stumbled, lurching forward. Harry reached to catch her, but another hand shot forward and pulled her upright before she collapsed. The two turned in surprise to see Penelope Clearwater standing there, staring at them, worry etched into the lines of her face.

"Have you seen Percy?"

"No," Harry said, anger bubbling in him at the mention of the other wizard. But the anger was tempered by a guilt he could not quite explain, and he suddenly couldn't meet Penelope's gaze. "Are you sure he is here?"

Penelope nodded, turning her head and scanning the crowd. "I came with him. He had just shown up at my flat when..." She trailed off and did not finish the sentence, and once again Harry was left wondering how news always managed to travel so quickly. Did the entire world now know that Diggory was dead? But Penelope continued talking, her voice dry and hoarse. "We got separated in the crowd. I don't know where he is!"

"I'm sure he's fine," Hermione said comfortingly. "He's probably somewhere safe, worrying over you."

Penelope managed a brief smile at the words, but then shook her head in annoyance and fear. Muttering under her breath, "I have to find him," she melted back into the crowd.

Hermione watched her go, then turned back to Harry. "I don't understand. How could this happen? How..." She stopped abruptly, tears glittering in her eyes. "It's not fair."

Harry gave a dark chuckle. "When has any of this been fair?" he replied pointedly, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

The noise was mostly undecipherable words and shouts, but a sudden cry could be heard, lifting into the air above all else. "Murderers! It isn't over. They will kill us! You Know Who is not gone!"

Those words were met with indescribably panic. Hermione was pulled backwards by the crowd as they surged into chaotic movement, and Harry cried out her name as she faded from his sight, swallowed up by the raging throng. People were screaming now, predictions that everything would end. How had the Death Eaters infiltrated the Ministry? How had they done this? Were they still out there, waiting to attack again? When would the world be safe?

"Kill them all! Suck out their souls! How can we let any Death Eater walk free?"

"We're not safe. None of us are safe until the world is rid of all this evil!"

"Where are the Aurors? Where was all our protection when Diggory was killed? How could this happen? Haven't we lost enough already?"

Harry was slammed backwards against the wall as the stampede seemed nearly to crush him. He struggled to remain upright, eyes scanning the room in a panic, looking for Hermione or Ginny. He had to find them. He had to make sure they were safe. He had to...

And then Ginny was suddenly at his side. He turned towards her, and saw that she was being tightly held in the grasp of her brother. Percy looked white and shaken, but he held tightly to her arms as though afraid if he let go she might disappear. Ginny was shaking in fear, but her eyes were filled with the same burning fire of determination that she had worn during the last great battle at Hogwarts.

"Ginny!" Harry reached out and grasped her arm tightly, obvious relief shining in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Ginny nodded mutely, glancing over at Percy. "You shouldn't have..."

Her older brother interrupted before she could finish the thought. "Don't. You were nearly trampled."

"But I..."

"_No_, Ginny."

"What happened?" Harry asked, confused, not understanding the anger that was passing between the two siblings.

"Percy doesn't think I'm old enough to take care of myself," Ginny hissed.

Percy seemed to be refraining from rolling his eyes at her. He countered in a voice of forced calm, "Come on, Gin. If I hadn't pulled out of there, you would have been hurt. Badly. You fell to the ground and no one even _saw_. You could have been trampled."

"What?" Harry breathed in dismay. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"She's fine. But she's going back to the Burrow now," Percy answered tensely.

"I am an adult, I can make my own decisions," Ginny retorted. "I need to stay and see..."

"You should go back," Harry said quietly.

She blinked at him, looking hurt, then snapped, "It figures that the only time the two of you would ever agree on anything is to tell me I can't take care of myself."

"I already lost Hermione!" Harry answered, nearly exploding in frustration. "I have no idea where she is. Or Mr. Weasley. And Penelope Clearwater is here too. So how can Percy and I find them if we have to worry about you too?"

"You don't need to worry about me!"

"Have you seen Penny?" Percy asked abruptly, eyes piercing Harry intently. "Where? Is she alright?"

"She's looking for you," Harry answered, and then someone bumped into him and he slid back against the wall. Percy had already turned to rush back into the crowd, and Harry watched in concern as the redhead was repeatedly knocked about, but Percy refused to give up. Soon he was gone, concealed by the throng of people all around.

"I need to find Hermione," Harry said, squinting around as he rubbed the back of his head. He was sure it was bruised, but at least they were at the back of the crowd now, and relatively safe. Hermione was not, and he had to find her, had to go back for her before she got hurt.

It was in the middle of these panicked thoughts that everything changed.

**"Stop!"**

The voice rang through the entrance hall, magically enhanced. Harry and Ginny turned, as did the rest of the crowd, and found themselves staring at a man they did not recognize. He was standing on a chair, staring down at the rest of them, and his imposing presence and forceful words seemed to bring everything to a grinding halt.

**"This panic, these shouts, will not help us! We have been attached, our safety has been breached! We must band together now to fight back, or we will lose everything that we have fought for, everything that we wanted. Look around you. Look at the destruction that we have caused in our panic. Overturned tables, people pushed to the floor... is this any way to protect ourselves?"**

His words were met with a silence, and then murmurs, nods of agreement spreading through the suddenly stilled crowd.

"Who is that?" Harry whispered, turning to his redheaded girlfriend. But Ginny shook her head, unable to answer, and at that moment Percy and Penelope reappeared by their side. Percy was looking relieved at finding his sister still unharmed, but Penny caught sight of the other girl and turned her head sharply to the side, annoyance and dislike clouding her eyes. The space between them was quickly thick with tension.

"Percy, who is that?" Ginny asked, ignoring Penelope.

"Hannigan," Percy answered, frowning at the man. "Frederick Hannigan."

**"And where is our Ministry? Where is Kingsley Shacklebolt? Where is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement when we need him most?"** He paused, the silence stretching only for a moment, then, **"Where is he?** **Making deals with the Malfoys! That's where he is at this very moment. He's giving them sanctuary even though he has proof they are in league with Severus Snape!"**

This declaration was met with cries of horror and anger, with a simmering rage that burned through the crowd.

"Why?"

"How could he?"

"No! I cannot believe it of him. Why would he abandon us?"

**"Then where is he? Why is he not here?"**

More cries filled the air, but Harry was hardly paying attention. He was staring instead at Hannigan, and something was moving in his subconscious, the beginning of suspicions that would not abate.

**"The Minister is murdered in his own office. But how? By whom? How can we know if our Aurors are not here to help us?"**

**"Sack him. He's no good anymore!"**

Percy turned sharply, squinting through the crowd, and Harry followed his gaze to Jonathon Abbott. He had not really known Hannah, but she had seemed friendly enough. Her father was a different story entirely. His eyes were burning with rage and fury and his very presence seemed to fill the room with a sense of frustrated unease, as though his own emotions were influencing all those who stood around him.

"He's in league with Snape," Harry whispered under his breath to Ginny.  


"Who? Abbott?"

"No. Hannigan. He has to be. How else would he know where Kingsley is? Don't you see, this is a plan to get Kingsley out of the way so they could kill the Minister! Snape is behind all of it, and Hannigan is working with him!"

Ginny frowned skeptically, but nodded at last. "I suppose it is possible."

Abbott pushed himself to the front of the room and stood next to Hannigan. "We need a new leader. Someone who is not afraid to met out punishment to those who deserve it. We needed someone who is not swayed by gold or power. Someone we can trust."

"But who?" was the answer from the crowd.

**"Find someone who cares about us. Who cares about this world,"**Hannigan answered, nodding his head to Abbott in agreement with his earlier words. **"We must find someone whom we can trust, who will help rebuild this society. We needed someone who is willing to put in long hours of hard work and labor, who is willing to fight against all odds. Someone who has not been corrupted by a thirst for power or prestige. We must find this person, and quickly! We need someone to unite us, someone to stand in front of us and lead the charge against our enemies!"**

**"Him," Harry hissed, feeling both anger at what he saw happening before his very eyes, and a morbid admiration for Hannigan. "He is setting it up so he can be appointed Minister of Magic. He wants the position."**

Percy eyed the crowd, the mass of people that were staring up at Hannigan with such total worship in their eyes, and said under his breath, "And he will get it. Look at them. Look at the crowd. They will cry for him to be our next Minister of Magic..."

"And Abbott is helping," Ginny spat. "The fool, he doesn't even realize what he is doing!"

Harry looked again at Hannigan. The wizard had slid off the chair and was making his way through the crowd, disappearing towards one of the hallways leading out of the entrance. On a whim, Harry hurried after him, and did not notice Percy, Penelope, and Ginny following behind.

Hannigan tucked his wand safely into his pocket, his hand closing around the smooth wood, and he turned on the spot, preparing to disappear. In the moment just before his body had slipped away from that place, another hand grabbed onto his, coming along for the ride.

And Percy, Penny, and Ginny were all left to stare in numb horror as Hannigan vanished, taking Harry with him.


	19. An Uneven Trade

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: And the sudden cry brought short by that flash of light was enough to tell Harry that nothing would ever be the same.

Author's note: So, as I am sure you can probably tell by the summary, there will be character death in this chapter. But I still feel I should give an official warning, so... Warning: There will be character death in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: An Uneven Trade

_The grave was only dimly illuminated by the light overhead. He would have come during the day, but the last thing he wanted right now was to be seen by anyone who might start asking questions. After all, why would a long estranged son come to his father's grave? Particularly when that son was known to be a Death Eater by some?  
_

_Severus Snape sat on the ground at the foot of the gave and frowned at the words Tobias Snape etched across the stone marker. The trials continued nearly day and night, and it was clear to anyone with half-a-brain that Crouch wanted revenge just as much as he wanted justice. Snape gave a grim smile. He should know; he was so well acquainted with the desire for revenge._

_The Headmaster had promised to protect him, and true to his word, Snape had not yet been accused. He wondered vaguely if it was only a matter of time.  
_

_His father had been dead for three years, and he had only visited the grave once before, on the day of the funeral. He had little reason to come, having no fond memories of his father. Still...  
Being a half-blood in Slytherin had not been easy. The few who knew about his birth took great pains to remind him of it, but that had only driven him further and harder towards the goal of proving himself worthy. And he had his father to thank for that.  
_

_A grim smile twisted his lips as he remembered his father's sightless eyes and lifeless face. The smile was not one of pleasure, but rather a bitter sort of irony - the man who had once scorned and mocked anything magical had died from his own stubbornness about the subject. His wife might have been able to protect him from the Death Eaters that attacked that night, had he returned home instead of wandering from pub to pub. She loved him until the end, even with all his faults.  
_

_He doubted his mother would live much longer. She was heartbroken, and had wasted away into someone almost unrecognizable after his father's death. Even after all the years of emotional and physical abuse, or perhaps because of it, she could not imagine her life without him. Snape considered it a miracle she had even lived through these past three years.  
_

_The war was over, although if Dumbledore was right, it could very well start again. He did not know how to survive in a world of peace, having spent so much of his energy focusing on all the various aspects of war. This would be a new experience certainly, but even more strange was the idea that he would actually being teaching. It was one more bit of proof for him that the Headmaster was clearly daft, because who in their right mind would ever want him to be a professor?  
_

_He let out a slow breath and continued to stare at his father's name, over and over until the words blended before his eyes. Without the shadow of the war looming over him, he could finally see some of the lessons he had learned.  
_

_"You were a violent, drunken lout, and a miserable excuse for a father," Snape muttered softly, "and I will never forgive you for what you did to me and Mother, and for what you are even now doing to her."  
_

_The Death Eaters had tortured the older Snape before killing him, as they often did with Muggles. No one had ever determined if Tobias had been killed because of his connection to his wife and son, or if he had simply been in the wrong place and the wrong time. Even Severus did not know the answer to that, and he had never bothered asking the question. In truth, he did not want to know why his father had died. It would change nothing, after all.  
_

_"But... I am sorry for the manner in which you died," Snape said finally, feeling a weight lifting from his chest as he said those words. "You might have deserved to die, I guess I don't really know. But I know you did not deserve to die in that way, so horribly and painfully. No one deserved that. Not even you."_

* * *

The moment Harry felt his feet touch firm ground, he let go of Hannigan's hand and drew his wand. The scene before him froze, everyone seeming surprised by his presence, just as much as he was surprised to find the people before him. He was standing in a dreary basement, dark and dank and smelling of rot, while Yaxley, Runcorn, and Hannigan all stared at him. Snape, Kingsley, and Headmistress McGonagall's bodies stretched out across the stone floor, still and unmoving.

And then the stillness was broken by a burst of light, and Harry instinctively through himself sideways and out of the way of the attack. Silently thanking God for his Quidditch-trained reflexes, Harry rolled over onto his knees and sent an awakening spell towards Kingsley's still form even as he dodged a second attack and brought a protective shield up around him.

"You fool!" Runcorn was snarling at Hannigan as Harry dove behind the crumbling staircase. "How could you bring him here?"

"I didn't... di-didn't know," Hannigan stammered, but Harry noticed his eyes were fixed tightly on Kingsley and the Headmistress. The Auror was rising to his feet, and seemed able to react quickly enough to the situation. In a display of very well controlled wandless magic, he summoned Snape's wand back from his captors and caught it easily as it flew through the air. He sent a few spells in rapid succession towards the three enemies, forcing them backwards and away from the the still-unconscious McGonagall and Snape. Runcorn and Yaxley both easily blocked the curses, but Hannigan, still shocked and unsure, was unable to bring a shield between himself and Kingsley in time, and he stumbled backwards as the full force of the blow hit him in the chest.

Harry, from his place behind the staircase, aimed another spell at McGonagall. She jolted awake, her eyes opening with a start.

"You'll ruin everything!" Runcorn hissed at Hannigan, but the other wizard was too dazed to reply. He was slumped against the cold wall, his eyes glazed in pain and confusion. His head jerked slightly at the sound of Runcorn's voice, but then he seemed to drift off again.

Harry fired a stunning spell at Runcorn, who was forced to drop to the ground to get out of the way. That movement brought him close to Yaxley, who nearly tripped over his ally's body.  
Kingsley quickly took advantage of the momentary confusion caused by Harry's spell, and pulled Minerva to her feet. She wavered slightly, and the hardships of kidnapping showed clearly on her features. She was gasping for breath, as though the struggle to find oxygen in this room was nearly beyond her power. Kingsley felt a sudden welling of fury for what these three villains had done to her.

But he could not waste time assessing her needs. Runcorn had already managed to revive Hannigan, and now all three wizards were facing them with expressions of determined cruelty. Harry still kept his place behind the stairs, casting curses through the spaces between the wooden boards, but it would only be a matter of time before he was surrounded.  
Kingsley gave a fervent prayer that he was doing the right thing, and waved his wand at the potions Master, bringing Snape back to reality.

Black eyes darted open, and then Snape was on his feet so quickly. His eyes swept the room, searching for his wand, before he realized Kingsley was using it. The Auror's own wand, broken during their first attempt and infiltrating the house, lay uselessly discarded towards one of the far walls. Without a wand, he would be able to inflict little damage against their enemies, but Kingsley did not appear willing to give up his hold on the only weapon he had.

"Shacklebolt," he started, but Kingsley shook his head.

"Not now," he hissed dangerously before thrusting Minerva into the potion Master's arms. "Keep her safe." And he turned back to the fight.

Snape yanked Minerva through the dingy basement, his eyes searching for any sign of a hiding place. Behind him, the flashes of light indicated the battle had reached full-swing, and his only thought of comfort was that Shacklebolt was a skilled duelist, and if he had to be trapped in a basement fighting the remains of the Dark Lord's supporters, he was reluctantly glad that it was the Auror who was here with him.

The basement twisted at one point, a small niche appearing in the walls. He settled Minerva on the ground there, noting the pale tinge to her skin and the dimming light in her eyes. But she was looking at him, and in her eyes he saw something appraising.

He did not have time to question what it was he saw, however, as he heard Kingsley shout, "Snape!" and turned just in time to see a piece of wood fly through the air directly in front of him. It was his own wand, and he caught it will practiced ease. One quick look told him that Hannigan had been disarmed and stunned, and Harry had emerged from behind the staircase to duel directly with Runcorn. Kingsley was now fighting with Hannigan's wand, but even so, the battle did not seem to be in their favor. Runcorn was putting up a vicious fight, and Yaxley had more than a few tricks up his sleeve.

"Stay here," he said to Minerva before quickly joining the fray.

"What are you doing?" Harry shouted at Kingsley as he sent a cold glare towards the potions Master. "How could you give him back his wand?"

"Focus on the fight, Potter, unless you'd like to end up leaving here in a casket," Snape retorted, flushed with indignation.

Kingsley, acting as though Snape had not even spoken, said, "He's on our side, Harry, at least in this."

Harry seemed about to argue, but a spell from Runcorn grazed his shoulder, and he cried out in pain before sending a retaliatory attack. There was blood on the fabric of his robes, but he paid it little attention even as the pain spread through his arm. It was not enough to keep him from fighting, and the rage that had been building for so long seemed almost to explode out of him and spell and spell left his wand. It was all Runcorn could do to keep one step ahead of his opponent. But even his incredible skill with a wand could not prevent him from being backed up against the wall due to the force of Harry's onslaught.

And then the ground began to shake.

It took a moment before Kingsley realized that the house itself was fighting against them. There was no earthquake outside, no sudden natural disaster that caused the very foundations to creak and groan. Instead, the house was moving itself, rocking back and forth, forcing them to lose ground as they struggled to stay upright.

It was Yaxley's house, after all, and it was not so inconceivable that the young Voldemort supporter would have some control over its structure. In fact, Yaxley and Runcorn seemed unfazed by the sudden movement, giving them an advantage.

A cry of horror caught Kingsley's attention, and he whipped around in time to see Yaxley send a killing curse towards Minerva. But even as the cry was leaving her mouth, she had ducked and rolled out of the way. Lifting one hand, she pointed at Yaxley, and he was blown off his feet. But the concentration and power needed to control such wandless magic took its toll, and Minerva slumped to the ground, pain in her eyes.

The Auror tried to take a few steps in her direction, but the floor sloped upwards and he stumbled, tumbling back to the ground. Snape was having better luck, and he managed to make it to the Headmistress' side in time to fend off another attack, this time from Runcorn.

Minerva looked at him through glassy eyes, and pushed herself into a sitting position. A small patch of red was slowly spreading across her disheveled robes, indication that she had been hurt. But that pain seemed to cause her little discomfort, and instead she was so out-of-it, that when she finally opened her mouth to speak, Snape was surprised that her words were actually coherent.

"You're helping us," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"What happened?" Snape demanded, not bothering to answer her statement. "What did they do to you?"

"A spell," Minerva gasped. "Don't know... which one. And potions. Can't remember..." The fog was settling over her mind once more, and her gaze slid past him towards the fight. "Why Dumbledore?"

Snape shook his head, not wanting to get into this conversation at that moment. He truly doubted she had enough presence of mind to understand anyway, so why waste time with excuses that would fall on deaf ears?

"Protecting her, are you?" Runcorn sneered as he came closer. Behind him, Snape caught a glimpse of Harry on the ground, Yaxley standing over the boy. Kingsley was now dueling with him, clearly fighting to protect Harry, but the Boy Who Lived was still managing to fire a few of his own curses, and it appeared that the two might actually win.

If only the ground would stop shaking...

Snape sucked in a slow breath and focused on his opponent, trying to determine his weaknesses, trying to find an opening he could take advantage of during the duel. He knew Runcorn was trying to goad him, and he did his best to keep his emotions tightly in check, but for some reasons the words kept getting through the cracks in his mental armor. He had spent so long separating his thoughts and his actions as he attempted to bring about the end of the Dark Lord's reign, and for all those years he had been forced to ignore the cruel remarks that would have most likely destroyed his younger, more emotional, self. So if he had succeeded against the Dark Lord, why was he failing now?

"What's the matter, coward?" Runcorn hissed, and Snape flinched at the insult.

And in that moment, he knew exactly why he was falling apart now, exactly why he had ended up in this trap in the first place. The adult Severus Snape would have been more cautious, more detached, more controlled. But he could see visions of James Potter floating before his eyes, and his blood boiled with hatred every time he looked at the younger Potter. Even if the boy had Lily's eyes...

He was not acting like the adult Snape. He was acting like the teenager who had let himself be defined by the bullies who tormented him, and who had struck back with blind words and cruel retorts. As he had told his Secret-Keeper, when it came to Lily Evans, he had made more than one mistake, and somehow this entire situation had gotten under his skin in a way nothing else had for years. He felt like a child again, like someone who had betrayed and lost his best friend and love... someone who had no professors to take interest in him, no family situation worth returning to during holidays...

The transfiguration Professor had been one of the few to trust him, one of the few to give him a chance, both as a child and as an adult. And here he was, once again struggling for her acceptance and respect. But that was exactly the problem. Even if he refused to admit it to himself, a small voice in the back of his mind pointed out that he had wanted to prove, both to Minerva and to Shacklebolt, that he was worthwhile. The adult Snape could have ignored that desire, but the teenager...

And as long as he clung to his need for approval...

Decent people may be easy to manipulate, but so where insecure ones.

With that thought in mind, he struck out at Runcorn, and the other wizard was slowly driven backwards.

"You are, as always, such a fool," Runcorn continued, struggling against the spells. "You were always so determined to believe that you were better than the rest, weren't you? But now look at you! An outcast, abandoned by anyone and everyone. So much for all your sacrifices. You're no better than a Muggle, now, or a Mudblood..."

_"Don't say that word!"_

The cry escaped from his throat, even as pain and anger and fury clouded his judgment and he faltered, temporarily losing control of his emotions once again.

Runcorn, however, was just as surprised by the emotional retaliation, and paused, confusion in his gaze. "Why don't you like the word?" he asked mockingly, not knowing the true reasons behind Snape's ire, only that he had found yet another weak spot in Snape's otherwise almost impenetrable emotional armor.

"Lily Evans..."

The two words were so soft that Snape barely caught them, but they redirected his attention temporarily back towards Minerva. She was staring at him as though she had never seen him before, and his heart clenched painfully as the whispered name left her lips. What did she know?

He did not have time to contemplate that question, however, as Runcorn continued to advance. He turned around once more, facing his enemy, and prepared for the attack. Kinglsey, he noted, had been hurt, but he still looked to have the upper hand, and that was all he could really ask for at that moment.

He had to survive.

And with that thought in mind, he struck fast and hard, advancing slowly, grimly, and with a cold determination.

Minerva, for her part, understood little of what was happening. Her mind was still caught in a haze of colors and lights, a sort of dull fog covering her senses as though she had been wrapped in cotton. She could feel her own rapidly beating heart, and her lungs straining against the confines of her chest, but everything else was distant.

Snape, Kingsley, and Potter were here.

Dumbledore's portrait had said he trusted Snape, or implied it at any rate.

Runcorn and Yaxley had called Snape a traitor. And a decent man.

And Snape had looked at her as though his entire world had been ripped apart before his very eyes just at the moment that she whispered the name Lily Evans.

But Snape had killed Dumbledore. Snape had turned Hogwarts into a home for would-be Death Eaters. Snape had been responsible for the death of James Potter.

And Lily Evans.

Across the room, Harry was having his own troubles as Hannigan regained consciousness. It did not take long for Yaxley to summon another wand for his disarmed ally, and although Hannigan seemed to have no idea where it came from and some problem using it, he still fought with a vicious power. But there was something in his eyes, a faltering expression, and Harry felt the tiniest bit of suspicion that Hannigan did not want to hurt him. He used this to his advantage as best he could, but with Yaxley and Runcorn still putting up a fierce fight, he knew they were in trouble.

He changed a quick look at Runcorn, and noted vaguely that Snape was suddenly fighting with a much more determined expression on his face.

Snape...

The fury burst out of Harry in the form of wandless magic that was completely uncontrollable. Hannigan fell to the ground, unconscious and bloodied, even as the room around him stopped shaking and the floor settled beneath his feet. The air was heavy with the feeling of power and magic, and Runcorn, stunned by the display and by Snape's sudden change in demeanor, did not see the curse coming until it knocked him to the ground.

And then there was another flash of light. Red light.

The spell was aimed at Snape, and the triumphant look on Yaxley's face clearly indicated that it would bring pain to the potions Master. Snape was turning towards the curse, but not fast enough to register the danger, and everything seemed to slow down until...

Snape fell, his body twisting, knocked to the ground by something heavy. He looked up and saw Minerva standing above him, her eyes focused straight ahead, her lips parted in a cry of fear. He was not sure if the fear was for him or for her, and then...

"Minerva!" Kingsley shouted, hysteria in his voice. Harry, too, felt the panic welling within him, but could not find the words to cry out anything at all. So he was forced to watch in horror as the jet of red light hit her in the chest. They did not know what the curse was. But Minerva's cry sputtered suddenly, and she collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around her mouth.

And the sudden cry brought short by that flash of light was enough to tell Harry that nothing would ever be the same.

Minerva rolled to her side, agony suffusing her entire body. She knew everything inside of her was broken, and the darkness of death was edging into her vision. She looked up to see Snape's horrified face leaning over hers, and wondered if she had been in time to save the others.

"So-sorry..." she choked, and then her eyes glazed over and her gaze moved past Snape until she was seeing nothing at all.

Snape did not notice Yaxley sieze Runcorn's unconscious form and disappear. He would not have cared, even if he had seen it. He could think of nothing but Minerva, and that she had thrown herself into harm's way, sacrificing her life for him. Did she know the truth? Did she suspect? He wasn't sure, and now that she was gone he could never ask her what had led her to do something so reckless and stupid. Had she even known what she was doing?

There were so many things left that he wanted to apologize for, to justify, to explain. And how he would never know how she would have reacted to the truth. Now he would never know if she could forgive him for all the lives he was forced to take and all the people he was unable to save. He had tried his best, but she was gone.

Like Lily.

Why would she die for him?

It seemed like such an uneven trade.


	20. It All Falls Apart

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Grief, they all knew, drove men to do strange things, and yet somehow it still surprised Harry when the burst of light left Kingsley's wand and Snape crumpled to the ground.

Author's note: For some reason, the site isn't letting me reply to reviews at the moment. So... I'll try it again later today, but probably won't be able to reply to the reviews for these chapters. Thank you, then, to all who reviewed.

* * *

_Not all that is gold does glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Nineteen: It All Falls Apart

Harry stared.

It was all he could do. The weight of what had just happened came crashing down on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. The gloom of the basement was overpowering, and the silence was nearly deafening in its intensity. It was punctuated by Kingsley's ragged breaths and the rhythmic thud of his own beating heart, but both those noises faded into the background as he stared at Headmistress McGonagall's lifeless body splayed out on the floor in front of them.

She had thrown herself in front of Snape, saving him from the deadly curse.

The thought made almost no sense, and he licked his dry lips worriedly, trying to find something to grasp onto, something that could anchor him back to reality.

Kingsley moved quickly to the Headmistress' side, kneeling down in front of her. He took her hand in his, fingers searching in vain for a pulse, and as his expression shifted from one of bewildered fear to a mixture of hatred and grief, Harry felt his own heart race, and the room swam in front of him. He struggled to stay conscious, tears pricking at his eyes. In his pain and heartache, he could not even find the strength to launch his furious attack at Snape, the traitor he had hunted for so long.

When Sirius had died, Voldemort had been unable to possess him, to wrap coils around his mind and use his body against Dumbledore. When Dobby had died, the link between the minds of the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord had been severed, and Voldemort had been unable to find any way to break through the barriers of grief that blocked Harry's mind. Now, staring at Headmistress McGonagall's dead body, Harry knew the same thing had happened. Surrounded by the pain of loss, or, as Dumbledore would have surely corrected, the overwhelming emotion of love, his own inner demons were unable to make themselves known, and the rage slipped from him, if only for a few moments.

So Harry was a little startled at what happened next.

Snape rose to his feet, standing shakily, his sallow skin more pale than usual. And Kingsley looked up at him, face suddenly lined with rage, and raised his wand.

Grief, they all knew, drove men to do strange things, and yet somehow it still surprised Harry when the burst of light left Kingsley's wand and Snape crumpled to the ground.

And then the air around Harry grew cold, and the echoes of his dying parents reverberated through his mind. He turned, but all will power was gone, and even as he found himself staring at the dark figure gliding towards him, his eyes slid past the creature, and his ears no longer heard the shuddering intake of cold breath. His father was shouting, panicked words, a desperation to keep his family safe. And then his mother's cries, softer, but filled with determination, with a refusal to stand aside...

...Sirius, laughter frozen on his face, eyes shadowed and suddenly unseeing, a whisper of a veil moving to the side, welcoming him into the land of the dead...

...Dumbledore falling through the window, shattered glass hovering in the air as his dead body crumpled to the ground far below...

...McGonagall, expression twisted in agony, collapsing before him...

...his mother, one last final cry before a flash of green light...

* * *

Hannigan waved his wand idly at the vile creature before him, and the thing that brought nightmares and drove men insane faded away, scared by the remnants of happy memories. He considered himself lucky, he'd woken while the others were so distracted by the Headmistress' death that they did not even see him rise to his feet and call the Dementor to his side. The Boy Who Lived had fallen quickly, darkness taking him as he slid to the floor beside his precious Headmistress. The Auror had been easily overpowered by a single stunning spell to the chest.

In a way, it was almost anticlimactic. Grief was such an unusual emotion, it could either spurn someone to great fury, fueling their power and making them nearly unstoppable, or it could render them helpless as it wrapped around its victims soul. He had expected more of a fight from the three, but with Snape already down, and Potter too distraught to fend of the Dementor...

He walked over to Minerva McGonagall and stared down at her pale form. He had not wanted her death, but he had to console himself with the understanding that he could do nothing about it. She was a casualty of war, and there had been plenty of those. But now he had the Traitor Snape in his custody, and it was only a matter of time before the entire Ministry fell into his waiting palm.

His eyes Shacklebolt. The Auror was a traitor to his people, and so any attack against him was completely warranted. How could they trust someone who worked with Snape, who gave the Malfoys a second, third, and fourth chance? The thoughts ran through his mind, and already he began forming a speech, figuring out just what he would say to the masses who would flock to hear him speak. He could weave tales of Shacklebolt's treachery, he could tell legends of the corruption of power and greed. He smiled grimly, slowly.

But then there was the issue of Harry Potter. Unlike Runcorn and Yaxely, he had no desire to see the boy injured. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He knew how important Potter was to the people, to all those who looked upon him with something akin to hero-worship. But beyond that, there was the simple fact that Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One. Hannigan wanted power, wanted influence, wanted control. He did not want to have the blood of someone as righteous as Potter on his hands.

But he also knew that Potter would not just sit quietly by and let him take the Ministry. No, the boy would be an obstacle, and a significant one at that.

He could deal with that problem later. The first task at hand would be to take Snape to the Ministry. Jonathon Abbott would be all too easily manipulated into helping him garner the favor of the people. After Snape was committed to Azkaban, he could release information about Shacklebolt, and, if not have him arrested, than at least have him discredited. Maybe even sacked. Once that was done, there would be few left who could oppose him.

That thought in mind, he grabbed Snape by the arm, and the two of them disappeared, leaving a silent basement behind.

* * *

By the time Harry regained consciousness, the basement had become silent, almost overpoweringly calm. He blinked once or twice, rubbing his eyes with one hand in an attempt to focus his vision. His glasses had fallen by his body, apparently knocked askew when he collapsed. He reached for them, groping vaguely, while turning to squint at Kingsley's still form. As he slid the glasses back onto his nose and the basement came into focus around him, he noted that both Hannigan and Snape were gone.

He pulled himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. The dizziness came in full force, and only sheer force of will kept him upright. Taking a few unsteady steps, he managed to point his wand at Kingsley and wake the Head Auror from his magic-induced sleep.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry murmured, turning his gaze slightly so that his eyes fell on to Minerva McGonagall's lifeless body. "Headmistress isn't..." He stopped, lowered his head.

"Runcorn, Yaxely? Hannigan? Snape?" Kingsley sprung to his feet with a speed and agility that only partially masked the pain of his injuries. He grimaced slightly, but looked around the basement with a calculating gaze, before his expression fell to one of resigned defeat.

It was then that a silver otter appeared before them, and shrieked in Hermione's voice, "Where _are _you? You need to come back to the Burrow, now! Do not stop anywhere on your way." And then the Patronus faded, and Harry stared numbly at the spot it had stood and wondered what could have caused Hermione to become so panicked. But the questions could not be answered by standing around in the empty basement, so Kingsley levitated the Headmistress' body and, with Harry following slowly behind, climbed the rickety and rotting staircase out of the basement.

"The wards would have only allowed a specific few to enter or leave the manor by magical means," Kingsley murmured, "and so I doubt either of us will be able to Apparate from within the house. We need to get the gates, and then you should go to the Burrow, and I will take... Minerva... to the Ministry."

Harry instantly protested, remembering Hermione's worried tone, "Maybe you should come back to the Burrow as well. Hermione said not to stop anywhere on the way. She might have meant you as well."

They both argued the point as they wandered out of the manor and towards the elaborately-wrought gates, but neither had much energy or heat to their words, the body that floated between them was just one more thing that kept them silently second-guessing themselves.

Harry glanced up at the sun and wondered vaguely how long he had been unconscious. The position of the sun indicated that it was already mid-morning, a few hours after the fight had taken place. He was a little surprised, however, that their opponents had not returned to finish what they had started, but it was clear that he and Kingsley had been left alone and unharmed while they were unconscious.

"Alright, go to the Burrow, Harry and stay there until I come for you. Is that clear?" Kingsley asked, his tone becoming stern as he gave the younger wizard a direct order.

Harry nodded, all the fight seeming to have drained away with the Headmistress' death. He waited until Kingsley turned on the spot and was gone with a loud crack. Drawing a deep breath, he thought of Snape and wondered were the traitor was. But he had the strangest thought that he was going to discover the answer to that very soon. With those ideas in mind, he too turned around, spinning on the spot and disappearing from the gloomy manor and its Dark Magic-infused grounds.

"Oh, Harry!"

The noise was the first thing he noticed, followed quickly by the sudden weight of something colliding against him. A mop of messy brown hair was his only indication that it was Hermione currently wrapped around his torso as her face was buried so deeply into his shoulder that he could not even understand her muffled words beyond the initial greeting. Over her head, however, he was able to see Ron and Ginny, both looking incredibly relieved, and Mrs. Weasley, who was bustling back and forth with the air of someone who could not decide if she should fuss or berate the man standing before her. Percy lingered by the stairs, and Bill lounged on the sofa, his lanky frame sprawled out in an exhausted manner.

"What's going on? Why is everyone so worried?" Harry asked, carefully unwrapping Hermione's arms from around his body. He was not prepared for the amount of cacophonous shouting that met that simple question.

"Uh, I don't know if you've noticed this, mate, but rumor has it that you did disappear with a possible madman last night... and then were missing for several hours."

"Not to mention everything that's going on at the Ministry right now."

"Oh, Harry, I was so worried..."

"Mum, let go of him, you're going to smother him."

"I can't believe you actually went with Hannigan! Well, alright, I can believe it because you do tend to be reckless, but still... What _were _you thinking, Harry?"

"Dad's at the Ministry, trying to get a handle on what just happened, but..."

"Oh, Harry!"

"Mum, really, don't you think you're overreacting a little? He's fine."

Mrs. Weasley stepped back with a faint smile, brushing her hands against Harry's robes in an effort to wipe off a few specks of dust. "Of course, dear," she murmured, and she did look somewhat abashed by her display of emotion. But her eyes still glimmered with tears of relief and she gave him a watery smile.

"Things are in such an uproar right now," Ginny explained. Her tone was quiet, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and it was clear that whatever was happening at the Ministry, she was not pleased by it. In fact, he could not remember seeing her this furious since Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts. "I'm glad you are alright."

Harry swallowed nervously. He wasn't alright, not really, and sooner or later he would be forced to share news of McGonagall's death. In fact, the entire battle would need to be detailed, and he had no idea how they would respond to the fact that Snape had been fighting alongside him against Runcorn and Yaxely. He, himself, had no idea how he would even begin to wrap his head around that fact, it made no sense at all. Had he had the energy before, he might have demanded explanations from Kingsley, but now he was far too exhausted to consider that...

"What happened?" he asked wearily.

"Um... it's complicated. Maybe Percy should explain, he was there for most of it..." Hermione suggested tentatively.

To Harry's surprise, no one even thought to disagree with her statement. Even if Percy had been in the best position to give an accurate and complete recounting of what had transpired, someone would have quickly jumped in to tell their side of the story, as though it would somehow be different from his, and so it was the silence that gave Harry the first inkling of just how bad everything had somehow suddenly become.

"Hannigan came back to the Ministry," Percy said with a nervous shiver, dropping his gaze. "He had Snape with him. There were a lot of us still there, trying to figure out what to do now that the Ministry was dead, and... Hannigan came. He said that... that the Headmistress was dead..." Here he waited, slowly lifting his eyes to Harry, but when the younger boy did not contradict the statement, he swallowed uncomfortably and continued, blinking tears out of his eyes. "Killed by Snape."

"That's not true," Harry murmured, unable to stop himself. It might have been Snape's fault that she was dead, after all it had been his life she had saved with her reckless actions, but he had not been the one to cast the spell.

Percy paused again, but when Harry did not elaborate, he continued, "He claimed that Kingsley had abandoned us all, that he... he was _with _Snape... working with him. That he was just as much a traitor to us as Snape was, that it was just as much his fault the Headmistress is... gone."

"No one could possibly believe that," Harry hissed, outraged, ignoring the fact that only a few hours prior to that, he had accused Kingsley of much the same thing. But though he had been more than willing to toss about accusations in the heat of the moment, there had never been any doubt in his mind that Kingsley stood against the Death Eaters with ever fiber of his being. Anyone who had seen him fight during the last year of Voldemort's reign would know that he was not a supporter of the Dark Arts or pureblood ideology.

"They didn't," Percy answered, "not at first. But... he was clever. He didn't call Kingsley a traitor, not directly. He just... implied it. He said that Kingsley was making deals with the Malfoys - and we do know that that accusation is true. And he said that... that Kingsley was so caught up in retaining power that he didn't care who he made alliances with and... And he brought Snape to the Ministry, Harry. He delivered Snape's unconscious body to the Aurors, to be taken to Azkaban. After that... there were few who could possibly stand against him. He'd... he'd caught the last of the great Death Eaters..."

"People are afraid," Hermione said softly, shaking her head. "The end of the war didn't end all prejudices, and people... they're still looking for someone to blame. Snape, obviously, and the Malfoys... and now Kingsley."

"What are they going to do?" Harry asked with growing trepidation.

"It's not what they're going to do," Bill said heavily, shifting his lanky frame as he looked from Hermione to Harry. "It's what they've already done. Percy says that right before he left the Ministry to come back here, he heard Abbott put out a request for Kingsley's arrest. He's a "person if interest" now."

"No..." Harry whispered, horrified. "But... Kingsley... he went back to..."

"Kingsley's gone to the Ministry, hasn't he?" Hermione asked in a resigned tone. "It's already too late to stop it. He'll already be under arrest."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Kingsley arriving with the transfiguration Mistress' body in tow. If Hannigan had been as successful as Percy claimed, if he had managed to poison the Ministry against their Head of Magical Law Enforcement, then Hermione was right; it was too late. Too late to stop Kingsley from walking right into a trap, walking into a mess from which he could not possible extricate himself. How long before he was sent to Azkaban? Was he there now? Would he even get a trial, or had they bypassed all those laws as well...?

Bill, however, faced the others with a determined expression and refused to join in their depressed thoughts. "No. It might be too late to prevent this, but it is not too late to fix it. We didn't fight a bloody war, we didn't lose friends and... and family... just to give up now." And if his voice trembled ever so slightly as he murmured the word family, if Mrs. Weasley quickly choked back a sob and Ginny wiped a hand over her eyes, no one commented on it.

"What happened, Harry? Maybe if we know more, we will be able to fix it..."

Harry slanted a look at his girlfriend. Ginny was standing in front of him, waiting expectantly, and even Percy seemed mildly interested in hearing the story. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words, but then Minerva McGonagall's lifeless face drifted through his mind, her face twisted in pain and horror as the spell hit her, as she crumpled to the ground... And he had no idea how to explain it. How to tell them what it felt like when she died, or how time had seemed to stand still for that fraction of a second, as though the world had stopped spinning.

"I..." He stopped, shook his head.

"Harry? Why don't you just... start with the... smaller details," Hermione ventured, easily reading his expression and trying to guide him away from the obvious painful memories. At least for now. He would need to tell them eventually, if there was any hope of saving Kingsley, but... but for now she wanted to spare him that anguish. Or, at least, delay it.

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, catching the pointed glare Hermione sent his way, the indication that he was supposed to say or do something to ease the abrupt tension. "Like... uh, what exactly was Kingsley doing there?"

"I don't know," Harry murmured. Because he hadn't even bothered to ask, not after...

Grief made people do strange things. Sometimes it fueled anger, but right now... right now, he didn't feel much of anything at all.

"I don't know what exactly happened before I came," Harry said finally, "but I do know that Kingsley and Snape came together. They were both trying to fight Runcorn and Yaxely..."

* * *

In retrospect, he had no idea how any of it had truly slipped so far out of control. One moment, he was making plans to save the Headmistress' life, and the next moment,he was suddenly facing a furious mob of people who had supported him in the past, people who wanted his blood now.

Kingsley's eyes darted back and forth across the sea of faces, before falling upon Minerva's body. She was still floating, now lying on a stretcher he had conjured, but the effort required to keep her off the ground was quickly becoming far too much for him. He could not concentrate on anything at all, not while the screams of "traitor" and "murderer" filled the air, flung at him with increasing intensity.

Through the daze of confusion, he saw Hannigan standing in the back of the room. When their eyes met, the other man smirked, and Kingsley's first thought was to start screaming his own accusations.

But the spell hit him in the back, catching him by surprise, and he found himself falling to his knees as something akin to pure agony spread across his torso. He turned, twisting to look at his attacker. Abbott stood, tall and proud, wand held in front of him. There was fury in his eyes, and triumph glittering in his smile.

"Attacking a man from behind... that's low, Abbott. Even for you," Kingsley murmured, but made no move to draw his wand. He did not want to fight, although he would if he had to. But he was so outnumbered, and the crowd was pressing in from every side, and it was preposterous to think he would ever get out of this on his own.

"See! The Headmistress is dead, just like I told you! In his own desperate search for glory and power, Shacklebolt has ended the life of one our most beloved leaders! How many more will die before we force this corruption from our midst? How many lives must we lose?"

Hannigan's voice, a high-pitched frenzy, carried to him over the crowd, and he turned back to others, flushed red with anger. Everything he saw was tinted red, darkened by the grief-driven hatred that burned in his veins. "How dare you...?" he started, but his words were drowned by the stampede of feet that rushed towards him, skirting around Minerva's body, circling him tightly.

"I have brought you Severus Snape, the vile traitor none could find. I have shown you that good can truly triumph if we band together. Minister Diggory and Headmistress McGonagall gave their lives to protect us, and I demand that we not let those deaths be in vain!" Hannigan's shouts continued, unstoppable.

Kingsley faltered, surprised. Amos Diggory was dead? And Snape now in custody? That should not have surprised him, and yet it did. It did, because he had never imagined that the Minister could die, or that Hannigan could be this much of a threat. He had always been wary of the wizard, something he had expressed to Diggory on more than on occasion, and the Minister had agreed with him. But neither of them had ever supposed that this ambitious upstart could truly pose a serious threat to the stability of the world.

It seemed that he had been quite wrong. Hannigan was more than just a possible threat, he was _the _threat. He was poised to take the country, to let its leadership fall into his eagerly waiting hand, and there was very little anyone could do that would stop him. At this point, he had all but won.

Kingsley brought his wand upwards, ready to attack, but it was far too late.

He never stood a chance.

But even as his unconscious body collapsed under the combined weight of several stunning spells, another figure moved in the shadows, hidden from view, watching the proceedings with growing distaste. He had concealed himself with spells and a cloak, the hood pulled tightly over his white-blonde hair. In this crowd, the last thing he could afford to have happen would be to be spotted by someone who wished his family harm. And yet, while he knew that just being here was dangerous and probably incredibly stupid, he had not been able to drag himself away.

He had come shortly after hearing about the Minister's death, much to the chagrin of his mother who wanted him to stay safely within the confines of their manor. He had been there for a while now, long enough to see Hannigan arrive with Snape's body, to know that his one-time mentor and protector would be sent off to Azkaban to await the final punishment, the worst fate possible. A Dementor's Kiss. Long enough to hear Hannigan give another speaech about safety, about stopping corruption, about protecting this society that they all loved so much. Long enough to see Kingsley arrive, long enough to see the Headmistress' dead body, long enough to know that everything was falling apart before his very eyes.

Potter's presence at the battle that night might not have made any difference. In fact, if the rumors were correct, Potter had managed to find his way to that fight, not through any prior knowledge he might have had, but rather through the sudden decision to seize hold of Hannigan's hand as he disappeared. So really, given that information, the wizard reasoned, he could hardly be blamed for any of this. It was not his words that had lead to this outcome, not his words that had caused Potter to join the die and McGonagall to die.

And yet...

He had only wanted to protect his family, his mother. His mother, who had defied the Dark Lord by begging Snape for help. His mother, who had risked her life once again by telling the Dark Lord that Potter was dead in exchange for Potter's report that her son was alive and in the castle at Hogwarts. Was it so wrong of him to put her above all else? Wasn't that what family members were supposed to do? Protect each other?

And yet...

He slipped away noiselessly, ignored by those around him. His mind was filled with troublesome and turbulent thoughts, with questions he knew he would never truly be able to answer. He was still not entirely sure that anything he had done had been truly wrong, but it also hadn't really seemed to be right. In fact, right and wrong didn't make a whole lost of sense to him at the moment.

The only thing Draco Malfoy did know for certain was that he had some soul searching to do.


	21. Pride and Fury

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So this chapter takes a slight detour and focuses on Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. We will get back to Snape and Harry soon enough, but this chapter is necessary for how the story is going.

Summary: While Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy both try to deal with the past events in their own way, it is Draco Malfoy's actions, and new-found knowledge, that just might bring the entire world to a screeching halt.

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Pride and Fury

She knew even before the news reached her what she was going to hear. It was not too difficult to guess just how quickly this world could turn on itself - she'd seen it happen many times before. The irony, of course, was that no one ever seemed to learn from their past mistakes. Jonathon Abbott was setting himself up to be the next Barty Crouch, and Hannigan had easily become the next Cornelius Fudge. Men too obsessed with power to pay attention to things such as morals and common decency.

She'd seen her fair share of that among the Death Eaters as well, her sister being the prime example. But Bellatrix, for all her evil intentions, at least never pretended to be anything other than what she was. Narcissa Malfoy had spent far too much time watching her every single move, learning how to act in the presence of different people from different types of society. She admired Bella for her honesty, brutal though it was. The subtlety of maneuvering through high society was troublesome... and, at times, down right hypocritical.

But people pursued power if different ways, and she knew exactly how men like Abbott planned to seized and maintain their influence.

So it came as no surprise when Draco pushed open the door to the study, slipped into the room, and announced quietly, "Snape is in prison. And so in Shacklebolt. Hannigan and Abbott are behind it."

A man like Shacklebolt was far too honest, too decent, to realize that sometimes it was not worth it to give other people second chances. He had treated her family fairly, and without an excessive amount of disrespect, and for that she had to grudgingly admit that she admired him. But it was also clear that he could easily be manipulated by those with far less scruples than he.

She walked over to the window and stared out at the garden below. It would only be a matter of time before they came for her, and she wished fervently that Lucius was there. But he was off attending to some business, and by the time he learned of what had happened, the Aurors might already be knocking at their gates, ready for the arrest. She debated sending a Patronus to her husband, but if anyone discovered that she had done that, they would wonder about the communication, and think up some horrible belief about a plot or plan they had devised. It would only get her - and Draco - in even more trouble, and she refused to risk her son's life.

She knew the type of people she was up against.

"If they come for us," Narcissa said finally, "I want you to go straight to Severus' cabin. You will stay there."

"What about you, Mother?"

She turned, a faint smile on her lips. "You will do as I tell you, Draco," she said firmly, her tone implying just how serious she was.

Draco stared bluntly back at her, but did not argue. She sighed, letting out the slow exhale with a feeling of foreboding. Only a few years ago, Draco had defied all of her instructions in an attempt to carry out the Dark Lord's bidding, and it was only her intervention with Severus that had saved his life. But now he did not even bother to disagree with her, and she could not help but wonder why.

Of course, she had a suspicion that she might already know some of the answer. She remembered, with astounding clarity, what it had been like to step out into the afternoon light and find her son conversing with Potter. She had wondered at the time what they could have possibly been speaking about, but now it seemed as though the answer might lie before, hidden in the recent actions of the Ministry. She doubted Potter would have willingly helped Hannigan or Abbott, but still... He could have easily been manipulated into helping them without realizing what he was doing.

For all that he had done, and it was quite a lot, Potter was still such a child. Those who wore their hearts on their sleeves only ever found that the enemy had an easier time ripping it out.

She had learned that one the hard way as well. She did not show her emotions openly now, but that did not stop the very wise from guessing at them. Severus, more than any of the others, had seemed best able to determine what she was thinking behind her unfeeling mask.

And now he was in Azkaban.

She wanted to help him, she truly did. But how? The name Malfoy no longer carried the same type of power, and it was doubtful that she could do much more than wish him luck and offer a prayer for his safety. But how could she just leave him there?

"Mother?"

She turned pale eyes towards her son once more. "Yes, Draco?"

He gave a little shrug. "What happens now?"

_She sat on the edge of the bathtub, her feet resting on the tile floor. Lucius had gone to a party that evening, but she had claimed illness and had not joined him. That, she knew, was quite unusual, she had always been a social butterfly, eager to flit from one party to another. At Lucius' semi-concerned questioning, she had simply called it a migraine and waved him away, and he had obeyed. She loved him because of the power that was attached to his name, he loved her because of the prestige that came with having a beautiful trophy wife on his arm. But he left the house and did not look back because, really, what did it matter? She would be fine.  
_

_She had forced all the house elves away, hoping to gain some much needed privacy. She had been having painful cramps for a week already, and she knew what that most likely meant.  
_

_So it came as no surprise when the white fabric of her nightgown turned red with blood and she stared unemotionally at the remnants of what might have been a child.  
_

_Another miscarriage.  
_

_There was no potion for it, and she could not figure out why. Shouldn't the magical community have long since discovered a way to treat problems of infertility? But they had not, and this was one more failed attempt for the heir that Lucius so desperately wanted.  
_

_She rose shakily to her feet, resting one hand on the wall, feeling the smooth wood run beneath her fingers.  
_

_She needed a child. Her sister... well, ex-sister really, as her parents had made it very clear that they did not want anything to do with Andromeda... already had a child. Granted, she had been married for much longer, but still... how would it look if the only Black child was born to a blood traitor? And besides, Lucius was the only Malfoy, and so it was up to him, and therefore up to her, to carry on his family name.  
_

_She needed a son. A little Malfoy heir. These were dark and dangerous times to bring a child into the world, but she had no doubt that her husband's name and her family's good standing with the Dark Lord could keep them all safe, if only she could produce the necessary outcome. When the Ministry finally fell and the Dark Lord took his rightful place as supreme ruler, how would she be able to face the world if she were still barren? How would the Malfoy's retain any of their prestige if she could not complete this one, simple task?  
_

_It was a practical matter, she told herself, and nothing more. She cleaned the blood, erasing the stains so that no one, not even the house elves, would guess at what had just befallen her. Again. They would try again, and perhaps this next time it would work out for her. She drew a breath and kept that thought firmly in mind as she walked towards the door.  
_

_A little over a year later, as she lay in bed, covered with sweat and holding the beautiful baby before her with a sense of pride and accomplishment, she found herself surprised by the other emotions that flared around her hardened heart. Lucius was ecstatic, and already the Daily Prophet carried the announcement of her success. Soon the entire world would know that she had produced a son. So then, why was she feeling just the slightest bit of concern, of worry? She had a son, and what else could possibly matter? But this feeling, hot and heavy, that settled in her stomach...  
_

_She passed young Draco to his father and watched as Lucius took his son from the room to present him to all those who waited in the parlor on the floor below. In the silence that fell, she turned her analytical mind to the confusing puzzle she faced, and tried to tear apart each aspect of this strange emotion...  
_

_Was this what it felt like to love a child?  
_

_The idea caught her by surprise, and even as she tried to dismiss it as just some fantasy, she could not quite rid herself of the growing unease. She was not supposed to love her child. She was supposed to care for him, protect him, raise him to be just like his father. He was yet another hurdle she had overcome, another stepping-stone to societal success. She was supposed to love him because of that, because he carried her husband's name, because he was the future of their family. Not for any other reason.  
_

_And yet...  
_

Narcissa forced a smile to her lips as she looked upon her son. "I will do what I can to help this family. And Severus. But you must stay out of danger."

"I want to help," he murmured, and she saw something akin to guilt flickering in his eyes.

She stepped away from him, from the window, and crossed to the other side of the room. The door was still firmly closed, cutting them off from the rest of the house. Although she doubted that anyone in their household would betray them - the house elves being far too loyal now that they no longer had Dobby, and the portraits mostly pure-bloods who shared their sentiments - it still reassured her that no one could be privy to her thoughts or interactions in this closed room.

"You cannot help, Draco," she said finally.

Because, in all reality, he simply could not do anything to change the situation. She was most likely powerless as well, and whatever came of that... Well, she would not let harm befall her son.

"But..."

"I am not a fool," she said sharply, twisting to face him with a sudden glare. "Do you really think I do not know why you want to help? It is not so hard, Draco, to see that you had a hand in this. Whatever you told Potter that day, whatever deal you made with him..." She trailed off, the anger fading just as quickly as it had come. She doubted her own parents ever saw her as more than a means to an end. And she had been quite good and what she had set out to do, snaring Lucius and marrying into such wealth. She had made them proud because she had helped take the Black family name to even greater heights. But she had little experience with parenting, having never really experienced it. How could she explain to her son that she could not anything happen to him when she could barely put the explanation into words for herself? Even after all these years, that sensation of love still managed to catch her by surprise, to completely baffle her mind.

Draco had dropped his gaze, embarrassed.

"You did what you did," she said softly. "You cannot undo it. We will move forward. But you are in no position to help us. I..." She faltered, shook her head, looked away.

Draco swallowed uneasily, and she could see the frustration in his eyes. Now she was not so sure that he would listen to her, when only moments before she had been convinced that he had accepted her orders. But as he walked from the room, she found herself restless with concern.

What would he do now?

What was she supposed to do now?

* * *

He appeared in Knockturn Alley, half-hidden by shadows. A stray cat looked up sharply, studying him with luminescent green eyes. He walked past the cat without even sparing a single glance for the scrawny creature. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence, but did not bother trying to move with any stealth. He had no doubt that there were several people here who wished him harm, but he also knew they would not attack him openly. For all their bluster about despising the Malfoys, most of the Voldemort supporters left did not have the courage of the guts to make anything more than snide remarks and verbal threats.

The alley was falling into disrepair. It was now rarely frequented by its once-powerful customers, most of whom were either dead or in prison. Aurors came by often to search the premises of various buildings or to confiscate Dark potions, artifacts, and books. When Voldemort had ruled, the alley had been a hub of bustling activity, a place that offered promise for people eager to prove their worth in the new order. Now...

Now it was little more than a slum.

The boy paused in front of the doors to one of the more famous establishments. Despite the hard times that had fallen on the rest of Knockturn Alley, Borgin and Burkes still managed to thrive.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The two men in the shop turned and looked at him, surprised by his presence. Mr. Borgin, the oily owner, recovered quickly and gave a smooth smile, eyes glittering. The other man seemed more disturbed by the boy's presence, and asked sharply, "Draco? What are you doing here?"

"May we talk, Father?" Draco asked in reply, his eyes moving to Mr. Borgin and silently asking the implied question, the request for privacy.

"Let me get those ingredients for you," Mr. Borgin muttered as he stepped away from the father and son. "I'll be back in a moment." And he left the two alone in the front room of the shop.

Lucius Malfoy seized his son's arm and pulled him back towards the door. In a low voice, he snarled, "What are you doing here, Draco?"

Draco wrenched his arm from his father's grip and replied fiercely, "Snape has been arrested. So has Shacklebolt. Hannigan is going to be made the next Minister! Mother thinks..." But before he could finish the sentence, Lucius had whipped around, turning away from his son and staring about the shop as though trying to convince himself that they were, in fact, alone. He relaxed slightly when no Aurors sprung from the woodwork to arrest him. But the apprehension in his pale eyes did not quite disappear as he looked back at Draco.

"Is your mother still at home?"

"Yes."

"I want you to go to the cottage," Lucius said in a low voice, his words barely audible. "Where Snape lived. You will be safe there."

Draco almost snorted in disbelief. "Mother requested the same," he muttered sullenly. "I'm not a child, Father. I do not need to..."

"You may not be a child," Lucius interrupted coolly, "but you are still thinking like one if you believe that there is any other option. Do not question me. Just go."

"They haven't come for us yet!"

There was no sympathy, no doubt, not understanding in the granite eyes that stared back at him. Nothing but absolute certainty. "They will," Lucius said.

Draco felt himself begin to smolder with rage at the way his parents were acting, as though he was too young to fully comprehend what was happening all around him. But his father was being a fool too, he reflected, by continuing to patronize this shop even now, even when they were under such scrutiny. The anger began to flare as he thought of his mother, alone in their manor, worried about the safety of her husband and her son, while his father pranced around the darker parts of London, making deals and doing business with the very people that could bring ruin upon them all.

"Then why give them more rope with which to hang you?" he sneered at his father, gesturing with one hand to the rest of the shop.

Lucius answered in a hiss, "One day you will understand, Draco. Leopards do not change their spots. Not completely. And a Malfoy does not either." He moved away, back towards Borgin, who had appeared once more in the room. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small leather bag and tossed it on the counter before him, letting the sound of clinking coins rattle in the cold air. "Thank you," he said shortly, coolly, as Borgin pushed a satchel towards him. He lifted the satchel and slid it into the voluminous pockets of his robes.

Mr. Borgin bowed them from the shop, his face twisted into a thin sneer as he watched them go.

In the cool air outside the shop, Lucius stopped and drew a breath. He looked at his son, who was still silently fuming.

"Go, Draco," he said harshly. "Your mother will be joining you soon enough."

Draco complied ungracefully, turning on the spot and disappearing.

The dingy hovel in which he reappeared was completely empty. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust and filth and cobwebs. No fire crackled in the empty grate, no warmth spread through the small room. It was barren and tiny and silent and...

The glass in the cupboard shattered, spinning out haphazardly through space. It hovered, hesitating for the briefest moment, before plummeting to the ground, bouncing harmlessly off the floor and breaking into even smaller shards. The two chairs next to the table began to wobble slightly, and the air became heavy with crackling energy and pent-up rage. It took Draco a moment to get his emotions under control, to stop the wandless magic that threatened to ruin everything around him. But even as the chairs stopped teetering back and forth and the fragments of glass ceased their endless spinning, he still felt his heart hammering in his chest, a heavy thud repeating against his ribcage.

He leaned back against the wall, his body slumping forward until he had slid into a sitting position.

A Malfoy does not change, not completely.

He'd known that, of course, just like he'd known that his father continued some of his less-than-tasteful business, interacted with some less-than-upstanding characters. Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not resilient, and he had managed to find his way through every single obstacle placed before him, and he had done it without sacrificing his penchant for the Dark Arts. And what else could have been expected from a man who had been raised to believe that he was better than pretty much everyone else, based solely on the family name he carried?

But now that everything had suddenly gone so wrong... how could he still engage in these practices, knowingly putting his family in even more danger.

And yet, how could he not?

A Malfoy does not change, not completely.

"What makes something Dark?" Draco muttered allowed. "Is what my father doing any different from what anyone else seeking power might have done? Certainly, they might call Fudge an arrogant fool, or Abbott a revenge-driven idiot. But people like that are never called Dark. Why not? What is so different, so much better, about seeking power that way?" Dark magic was what they all had known, along with societal maneuvering and bribery. Was it any wonder that his father would revert to this methods in such uncertain times?

The world was not divided into good people and Death Eaters, but the terminology used to discuss magic was still based on that very divide.

And yet... when every action he did put his family in danger, how could Lucius justify any of it...?

Draco rubbed his forehead with one hand as the anger faded into frustration and worry. He was alone, helpless, seeking refuge in Severus Snape's cottage, hiding from a world that would soon want his dead.

He could not stay here. His pride would not let him hide while others were in danger, while his mother risked her life for him again. His wrath would not allow him to run like a coward from the world, no matter how much they might despise him. He had to do something. Anything.

He did not believe anything Abbott or Hannigan had said, did not believe that Shacklebolt was guilty of whatever crimes they had thrown at him, did not believe that Snape had killed the Headmistress. Whatever had happened the previous night, there was only one other person who might have insights, who might be able to help him.

The question that remained, then, was did he have it in him to swallow his pride and seek out Harry Potter?

He rose to his feet and walked through the kitchen into the small sitting room. The room was just as bare as the kitchen, just as dirty and dingy. He knew his mother would have a fit if she saw the place like this, but Snape had never really cared about cleaning, and so often it had been left alone for weeks at a time. Until, of course, his mother showed up with her house elf and insisted on not leaving until the place looked spotless.

He had heard from his mother that Snape had never been thrilled about those visits.

He had heard many things from his mother about Snape. He often wondered why the man had switched sides, why he had gone to such extraordinary lengths to gain the Dark Lord's trust, just to throw it back in his face at the last second. He remembered the flash of green light, the way Dumbledore's body had hovered, suspended in midair, before crashing to the ground far below. He remembered Snape's gloating laughter when the Dark Lord had rewarded him by making Headmaster of Hogwarts. He remembered his gleeful pleasure at assigning detentions to Gryffindors for no particular reason, for confiscating wands and allowing the Carrows full control over punishments.

He remembered when his mother had informed him in a shaky tone that Severus Snape was not a true Death Eater, that he had saved her life twice during the final battle, and protected Lucius as well, keeping them safe from the wrath of their "friends" who had soon realized that Narcissa had lied about Potter being dead.

As he slowly contemplated the complexities of Snape's character, he let his eyes wander the room, taking in each piece of furniture until...

Until the glimmer of silver light caught his attention, and he crossed the room to find a Pensieve, full of memories, lying innocuously in a half-closed cabinet.  
He looked around hurriedly, almost expecting to be caught. Expecting Snape to come storming into the room, furious that Draco had even considered invading his privacy.

But Snape was in Azkaban. He was not here, could not be here.

And there the memories sat, tempting him.

On a whim, emboldened by a courage and recklessness that, though he would never admit to it, reminded him a little bit too much of Gryffindor, he leaned forward, and sent himself falling into the memories, eager to see what he might learn.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled himself from the memories and collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor, unable to believe.


	22. Conversations with Dead People

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, including parts of this chapter that are taken directly from DH, _Chapter Thirty-Five: King's Cross_.

Author's note: So this chapter is actually the reason why I wrote this story. The first part of it was an idea that had been bugging me for a very long time, and I just really needed to get it written... Hope you enjoy. Also, note that because some of this is AU, when Harry "died" after surrendering to Voldemort, things went a little differently for him. As you will see in this chapter.

Summary: Even after all this time, Lily was still saving him.

* * *

_Not all that is gold does glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost _

Chapter Twenty-One: Conversations With Dead People

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."_

The prisoner opened his eyes slowly, drawing a shaky breath. It rattled in his throat, air pushing against bruised vocal chords in a strangled sort of half-gasp. The mat of greasy hair was pushed roughly aside as black eyes darted about the cell, taking in the surroundings. The stone walls offered little details of interest besides the growing mold and the damp trickle of water.

Severus Snape pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and looked around. The air was unnaturally cold, and feelings of dread, guilt, and pain seemed to flow through his veins like blood. He knew there was a Dementor lingering just outside the door, watching his prison cell. It was leeching the happiness out of his body, drawing away any of the thoughts that could have helped him hold on to his sanity. It was as though he was teetering at the brink of insanity, only his fiercely stubborn will holding him upright.

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"_

The words echoed over and over in his mind, a mantra he could not keep at bay. He could see her face, green eyes widened in surprise, and then the shutters dropped and her expression was cool and unreadable. He could see the anger flashing in her eyes, could see the hurt and pain and everything else that Potter in all his arrogance did not notice.

He wished he could take it back. He wished, more than anything else in the world, that he could undo what had happened...

But he couldn't. Lily was dead.

Outside the cell, the Dementor floated closer towards the door, inhaling deeply, absorbing the memories and leaving Snape with nothing but the echo of those hateful words, over and over and over and over and over...

He stumbled slightly, then took a few steps backwards and leaned against the wall. The moisture collected in small drops, running down the stone and clinging to his tattered robes. The darkness started encroaching on his vision as his tired brain tried to shut down, tried to force him back into unconsciousness.

Then he shifted his weight slightly at his body pressed against something in his pocket.

The thought entered his mind, but it took a few moments to push past the barrier of fog and confused thoughts and process what it was.

The ring.

He remembered, vaguely, that he had taken it from the cottage when he met Shacklebolt in the Forbidden Forrest. Something he had not understood, some sensation that made no sense, had insisted that he take it, that he keep it close. It was something important, something precious...

He slid his hand into his pocket and withdrew the ring, staring at it. The stone was cracked, testament to the power of the Godric Gryffindor's blade. It lay in the palm of his hand, looking so innocuous, so simple and unimportant... but it _had _been important. It had been important enough that the Headmaster had risked his life to obtain it, to destroy it... to wear it.

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."_

He remembered her, so clearly, so vividly... She was standing before him by the lake, her eyes flickering with hurt and betrayal before they turned blank, forever closed to his pleas. She was standing in the hallway outside her common room, her expression devoid of the once always-present sympathy. She caught his gaze across the Great Hall and turned away... Potter's arm around her shoulders.

Other memories flitted around the edges of his mind, glimpses of his mother's face covered with bruises, flashes of his father's anger. But it was Lily who stood in the limelight, Lily who never left, whose presence never faded even after all this time. The skin around her eyes was tight with accusation, her lips were pressed into a thin line of dislike and fury, she was walking past him, ignoring him... But then she stopped and turned, looking back, and while her eyes never changed, the rest of her twisted and contorted, and suddenly he was staring at Harry Potter instead. It was strange to see the boy, to see Lily's eyes narrowed at him in such hatred. Because even after their split, even after she had refused to ever speak to him again, her eyes had not held that type of utter distaste. Dislike, yes, and betrayal. But not disgust. He was not prepared for it.

He looked down at his hand again, but forming a thought was so difficult, so near impossible, that the ring looked like nothing more than a useless trinket. He almost dropped it to the ground.

But he thought of Lily again, a somber, guilt-ridden twisting in his stomach, and his fingers closed over the ring.

The werewolf at the end of the tunnel... Black's maniacal laugh... Potter pulling him to safety... Lily refusing to believe him, refusing to listen to his theories, his pleas... he _knew _what Lupin was.

A werewolf.

A decent human being.

Dead.

Like Lily.

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."_

"Lily..." he whispered, the word barely audible, sounding no louder than the faint echo of a far away noise. "Lily, I... I'm sorry. I... love you."

He turned the ring over in his hand.

And suddenly she was standing before him. She was pale, ghostly, a shimmering silver like a Patronus. Her mere presence in the room seemed to suffuse the air with heat, and the warmth chased away the darkness, pressing the shadows back against the wall. The memories of her death, of his mother and his father, of the werewolf, of James and Harry Potter... they all faded behind the glow of her smiling face.

The Dementor outside the room glided backwards a few paces, disturbed by the sudden rush of peace emanating from the cell.

"Lily?" Snape gasped.

"Hello, Severus."

"I... how...?" He reached out towards her, his hand slipping through the phantom and clutching at air. She was not there, not really... she had to be simply a figment of his overactive imagination, of his exhaustion, of the Dementor floating just outside the door. "You're not real," he whispered. "You cannot be real."

She smiled faintly, green eyes never leaving his. "I am real. As real as you are." Her eyes drifted to his clenched fist, to the ring. "Don't drop that."

He knew that Dementors drove people to insanity. He had heard the stories, both from the Ministry of Magic and from the Dark Lord. Both had used the vile creatures for their own ends, and those ends often resulted in people going mad, killing themselves in a final act of desperation to avoid the torment. He had to be going mad. There was no other explanation for it, no other way that this could be happening to him. No other way that she could be there, standing before him, a ghost of someone long gone.

He nearly laughed.

She reached out, her hand lingering just inches from his face, as though she wanted to touch his cheek. But she did not, and eventually her hand fell back to her side.

"You can't be real. You can't be... You're _dead_." He said the word, spitting it from in between clenched teeth. Was this just another means to torment him, another type of torture thought up by the Ministry? But how could they know what he felt for her? How could they possibly understand? And yet there she was, standing before him, as though she was really, truly, actually there.

"I am dead," Lily agreed.

He thought his heart might split in two. Did she know? Did she know that it was all his fault? Did she know that he had brought about her death, that he had delivered the prophesy to the Dark Lord? He had her blood on his hands just as surely as if he had uttered the spell himself.

"I... I'm sorry," he said, looking away. He slumped further against the wall, sinking down until he was sitting on the stone floor. She was shinning just a little less brightly, her green eyes just a little less vibrant. The warmth emanating from her seemed to fizzle, cold seeping into the room through the cracks in the heavy stone wall. He shivered, tears pricking at his eyes, a dull burning appearing behind his lids.

The Dementor outside the door shuffled a little closer to the room.

Lily gave a half-shrug. "I am, too," she replied, although he did not know what she was apologizing for. Or was she simply saying that she was sorry that she had died as well? Was it not an apology but an acknowledgment that he was to blame for all that had happened?

He stared at the ground. A bit of moss was growing through a hairline fissure in the stone. It was slick and green and covered in tiny drops of water. It was strange, he reflected, how so many different types of plants managed to grow in the most inhospitable of places. How could it thrive in a cell devoid of sunlight, of fresh air, of nutrients? What did it use for energy? He was a potions Master, and he had used almost every magical ingredient known to the wizarding world in his service to Dumbledore and to the Dark Lord. But he had rarely stopped to question how these plants lived, how they grew, how they survived.

"You and Harry are not so unalike," Lily continued. "He is more like you than you realize."

Snape grimaced. Was this more punishment, another reminder of all that he had done? He had deprived the young Harry Potter of a chance to know either parent, or a chance to have a happy childhood. And, in a twisted, rather ironic way, he had been the one to make the prophesy come true, to force it upon the boy. After all, what was so special about Lily's sacrifice? People died for their children, for each other, all the time, and yet their sacrifices rarely imbued the others with an ability to be invulnerable. But Lily's death had given Harry the power to resist the killing curse. Why?

Because she hadn't needed to die. Because the others who were killed by the Dark Lord, he would have killed them no matter what. But Lily...Snape had convinced the Dark Lord to spare Lily's life, spare the life of a _Mudblood_, and when she refused to move away from her son, it was only then that she had died. And left Harry marked by a power that the Dark Lord did not understand... And so it was Snape who had delivered the prophesy to the Dark Lord, and then begged for the one favor that made it all come true.

"Come on, Severus," Lily chided gently. "Look at me."

He raised his eyes and met her gaze. There was no accusation there, but there was little friendliness either. Instead, he found himself staring at an expression of curiosity and mild reproach.

"Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you so convinced that you cannot tell others the truth?"

"What is truth?" Snape answered, his voice rough, catching in his throat even as he attempted to force the words out into the air between them. "The truth is that I have killed. And done far worse than that."

"And far better."

He looked away, blinking against the tears. "I killed you."

"Yes," she agreed simply. "You did. So did Voldemort. So did Peter. So did a lot of people, actually. But you... you helped, as well. You protected my son."

That brought a dry, choked laugh from Snape's throat. "Protected?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What protection did I offer? What did I give him besides scorn and resentment?" He could picture, so clearly, his words to Harry Potter during the very first potions lesson of his very first year. Hadn't he mocked the boy when he didn't know the right answers, hadn't he taken a House point from Potter when it had been Longbottom who had made the mistake? What were his reasons? Could he truly claim he was trying to teach Potter anything, or had it all been fury that he was staring at a miniature James Potter, his own worst nightmare, his nemesis' looks with his true love's eyes.

A shadow fell across the room, the Dementor sliding a little closer to the door, inhaling a little more of the contentment, the happiness, and the warmth from the room.

Lily was fading before his very eyes.

His fingers clutched even more tightly at the ring, remembering her warning not to drop the stone. He did not know why it was important, but... But she said it was important, and that was enough.

"Why, Lily?" he asked finally. "I... I told you I was sorry. I said... I never meant to... Why are you here now, when I needed you then? Why have you come back to torment me?"

She knelt before him, the silver light glowing about her, pushing away more shadows. She was so young, just as he remembered her. But her eyes were much older, and filled with several emotions he could never even begin to identify.

"I have not come to torment you," she answered.

"What have you come for?"

"Closure. For both of us."

Snape shook his head. "Too late, Lily. It's all... too late. You said so yourself. I chose my path... and you chose yours." With Potter. With that arrogant James Potter and his band of pathetically worshipping followers.

As though she had heard his thoughts, she said, "He changed, Severus. He was arrogant and a bully during our first years, that's true. But he did change." She blinked once or twice, and Snape wondered if she was forcing away tears. Could she be crying as well? But for what? "And you changed as well," Lily added.

"I never... Lily, I... I _love _you."

There was a momentary silence, a complete stillness that fell over the cell. It was intense and awkward and broken only by the rapid beating of Snape's heart at the subtle drip of tiny droplets of water sliding down the damp stone walls. Then the noise began, like the rattling of the wind through dead tree branches, as the Dementor floated just a little bit closer towards the door, as the heat seeped from the room, slipping in between the cracks.

Lily rose to her feet and stepped back, eyes reflecting indecision and hurt. "But not as much as you loved them, Severus. Not as much as you loved your friends and your power and your reputation. And the Dark Arts." She turned away, breathing heavily as though she had sprinted a long ways. "You couldn't... you couldn't understand what was important to me... you couldn't try."

"I _did _try."

"Did you?" Lily turned completely away from him and walked to the other side of the small room. "Did you ever understand why what Mulciber did to Mary was so wrong? Did you ever understand why it would hurt me that you called other Muggleborns Mudbloods? Did you ever understand why it did not matter how you treated me when you made it so clear that you thought anyone of Muggle parents was worthless?"

"Not you, Lily. Never you."

"You wanted to be a Death Eater! You were infatuated by people whose sole mission was to rid the world of anyone with my bloodline. Don't you understand that it didn't matter what you thought of _me_ when I knew exactly what you thought of _them_?" She was crying, he realized, hearing the tears in her voice, the sobs that she just barely managed to keep away. When she faced him, he was not surprised to see the telltale tracks on her face, the redness around her eyes.

"I could have changed," he whispered.

"When? When were you going to change? Certainly not then, certainly not in those seven years at school. I made excuses for you for five years, and you never once changed. You were so..." She stopped, her words coming up short, and ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip.

"You made excuses for Potter." He had not meant to say the words, but they had lingered inside him for too long. The bitterness, like a festering wound, abruptly broke forth, and he hissed them at her, eyes narrowed. She stepped back, pushing even further against the opposite wall, her face devoid of all color. As though he had slapped her.

But when she answered, her voice was steady and calm, "Like I said, he _changed_. He made an effort to be someone I could spend my life with. You never had the chance to know him as a man, but he was different. He was compassionate and honorable and brave. I could make excuses for all the arrogant, dishonest, dirty things he did as a teenager because he was no longer that person. Don't you see, Severus? When he changed, it was for the better. When you changed... it wasn't. After out fifth year... I barely even recognized you anymore."

"Lily..."

"I loved you, too. Which I proved, by standing up for you, time and again, for five years. But you chose your path, and it wasn't with me."

"I wanted it to be with you. It could have been, if you'd..."

"If I'd what?" Lily asked with a weary sigh, shaking her head again. "Given you another chance? I did. I gave you so many, and you..." She blinked rapidly and drew a ragged breath. "You were my best friend. I trusted you, I told you my secrets, I... I loved you. And then you became one of _them_. You... betrayed me. You chose them long before I ever chose James, before I ever became friends with Sirius and Remus. What could I have done to change that, Severus, when I was not the one who split us apart in the first place? How could I have made you see when you refused to open your eyes? I could overlook James past because his future was better. But you... how could I save you if you would not let me?"

Snape did not answer right away. There were so many things he'd wanted to say to Lily over the years, and now that she was right here, standing before him, he could not even begin to form the right sentences. He had already said that he loved her and that he was sorry, but that wasn't enough. He had to say more, had to make her understand that he was different now. He was better. He _had _changed.

"I tried to save you," he said finally.

"But not James or Harry. Would you have let them die, if the Headmaster had not made you change your plea? Would you have let my husband and my son, two of the most important people in the entire world to me, be murdered by a madman?"

Snape could not answer. At the time that he had gone to Dumbledore, his only concern had been Lily's life and safety. Even in the years that he had spent watching over Harry, to his best to protect the danger-prone Potter, it had always only been for Lily. Did he even care about Harry Potter? He did not know. But he loved Lily with all his heart, and he would have given anything to make her happy.  
Even if it meant she was happy with someone else.

"What do you want from me, Lily?" Snape asked finally, suddenly exhausted. He forced himself to his feet, the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.

"Closure," she whispered.

"How can I give you that? Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it."

"I just... I want you to be happy, Severus. Even when I hated you... I always wanted that." She took a few steps towards him, until they were standing only feet apart, staring at each other intently.

"I have changed," Snape murmured. "I am sorry it was not soon enough for you. For... _us_."

She gave a faint smile. "Yes," she answered thoughtfully, "you have changed. I see the way you act now... You do care about others. The Malfoys ... you do truly care about their fate, about what happens to them." He did not know if that was supposed to be another slight, another pointed comment that he cared only for Slytherins , even after all this time. But Lily continued, "The past is over and done. I

just... I want you to move forward. I want us to be able to... put everything in the past. Move on."

"Closure," Snape muttered.

"Yes."

"And how do you expect me to give it to you?" Snape countered. "I don't know what you want."

"I told you," Lily answered. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm _trying_."

"No, you're not. You're hiding away from the world because you think it is easier. Does it make you happy, Severus, to always be looking over your shoulder? Does it make you happy to know that you are universally despised for crimes you did not commit?"

"What about all the ones I _did _commit, Lily? Is one good deed enough to cancel out all the other bad ones? The world will not forgive. People do not so easily forget."

"How will you know, unless you give others the chance to decide?"

Snape shook his head slowly and did not reply. He could not tell her that he was afraid, could not admit to fear in front of the woman he loved so much. But he had the feeling that she saw through his bravado, that she knew just how terrified he was underneath all the courage. He could claim that he did not care what others thought, but that was not true. He did care, as much as it loathed him to admit to it. He did not want to have to show his memories, to have them judge his actions. He did not want to be called a coward or a traitor or all the other names he was sure society would throw at him.

They hated him now, and that was fine. But what would happen if they pitied him? If they mocked him?

It would be like the seven years at Hogwarts all over again, only this time no one would ever come to his aid. Not now that Lily was gone... After all, who would care enough to listen to his arguments, to look at his memories? Who would care enough to investigate his story? The world did not want a hero, they wanted a traitor. They wanted vengeance.

"I'm sorry," Snape whispered. And this time he was not sure what he was apologizing for.

"I know, Sev," Lily answered, his nickname falling unintentionally from her lips. "I know."

"I made a mistake. Potter was arrogant, Black was a bully, Lupin was too cowardly to stand up to his friends. But you... you stood up for me, Lily. When no one else would. That was what made you different from them... and from every other witch or wizard, Muggleborn or pureblood , that I've ever met." He looked down at the floor. "Maybe they did change. Maybe we all changed. But you are right, it is in the past. All our decisions... mine, yours... they're all in the past."

It was all he could offer her, and he knew it was not much. But it was the closure she wanted, and he hoped that would be enough.

Then, as an after thought, he added, "You did save me, Lily. Even if you didn't ever realize it. I'm trying to be a better person because of you."

The glow around her burst suddenly, exploding into silver light that flooded the entire room. Snape cried out in surprise, in shock, and threw both hands in front of his face to block the sudden rush of bright light. The air buzzed with electricity and heat, but even as he registered the strange sensation of warmth crawling through his tired limbs, he opened his hand and the ring tumbled from his grasp, falling to the floor. The silver light faded, as did the image of Lily, and he was left alone in the silent room.

The Dementor slid closer to the door, gliding over the ground. But Snape did not notice. His eyes were fixed on the spot Lily had stood, as though he could still see her phantom, the shadowy imprint of her soul left behind. He thought perhaps the room became colder again, thought that perhaps unwelcome memories were playing through his mind. It did not matter, none of it. The Dementor could not take his happiness, could not take any of his contentment or inner peace. The Dark creature was helpless against him, because now, when he thought of Lily, he no longer saw the betrayal or pain in her eyes, no longer heard his own unforgivable slur. Instead, he saw her standing before him, her whispered words of comfort floating all around.

Even after all this time, Lily was still saving him.

_

* * *

_

Harry lay face-down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.

_Still... the surface below him was smooth to the touch, and when he blinked in shimmered into view, the cloudy vapor around him fading into nothing. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his robes rustling about as he peered through the nothingness, the strange expanse of white. Shadows started creeping out of the fog, and high above him a glittering glass dome appeared, sending refracted light playing across the ground. He was in some sort of hall, a hall he did not recognize, did not remember having ever seen before... even though it looked strangely familiar.  
_

_A sound came to him. A hum, a whisper, a cry. A strange sob that melted into the background almost as soon as it had come. A whimper.  
_

_He turned on the spot. He was not wearing his glasses, but everything was diamond bright and crystal clear. His eyes swept through the strange hall, peering into the vast whiteness until he saw...  
_

_It.  
_

_A child, or perhaps something more than that. A thing, wrapped in cloth, twisted away from him. A crying thing, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.  
_

_He took a wary step forward. "What...?"  
_

_The thing moved. He saw, then, the slits for eyes, the snake-like nose, the pale skin. It whimpered again, but he did not feel sorry for it. He was afraid, afraid of something he could not explain, something that made no sense at all. This thing, this fragmented child, this unwanted creature... he wanted to comfort it, to reach out in reassurance. It was afraid as well, but it repulsed him, and he stepped back, turned away.  
_

_He knew what it was. And though he felt fear - for it was powerful - and disgust - for it was repulsive - he also felt pity. For it was alone, and dying.  
_

_The twisted, shattered remains of Voldemort's torn soul.  
_

_"You cannot help."  
_

_He looked up sharply and found himself staring at twinkling blue eyes.  
_

_"Sir...?"  
_

_"Harry." Dumbledore almost embraced him, but brought himself up short and shook his head. "You wonderful boy." Again, he shook his head and corrected himself, "You brave man. Come, let us walk."  
_

_Harry nodded and followed the Headmaster, still in a daze. The rest of the fog was completely gone, replaced now by rows of benches and chairs and long stretches of walkway that disappeared into the distance. He looked around, taking in the sight, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there. Still... Dumbledore was dead, and yet he was _here_, so didn't that mean there was really only one explanation?  
_

_"I think, my dear boy, that you are most likely not as gone as you believe."  
_

_Harry did not even bother asking how Dumbledore knew what he had been thinking. Instead, he said, "How so? I should have died. I _meant _to die." He was suddenly angry, so absolutely livid. He had done so much in an effort to keep Voldemort from winning, and now he would fail in the eleventh hour? Fail because he couldn't simply die?  
_

_Something moved beyond his line of vision, a faint glimmer of silver. It faded when he turned to look at it, disappearing before he could catch any details. But his anger drained as well, replaced by a heavy resignation.  
_

_This was not over yet.  
_

_"And that," Dumbledore replied happily, "is what will have made all the difference."  
_

_"But... how?"  
_

_"You let him kill you, Harry," Dumbledore answered gently. "You let him kill you, and so he killed the part of his soul that was trapped in you." Blue eyes strayed towards the thing, the crying, whimpering, murmuring child. "It is gone now, dying quickly. There is nothing left to do, nothing that can save it."  
_

_Harry licked his dry lips. "I am the last...?" But he stopped, did not finish the question. He could not bear to face what it meant, to accept the fact that he had spent so many years with a part of someone else inside of him, a connection he did not understand. Voldemort's torn soul had lingered inside his own body for years... and he had never known. How could he have carried something so corrupted, so evil, with him and not have even realized it?  
_

_Dumbledore gripped his shoulder then, his hand firm and healthy.  
_

_"He took my blood," Harry said, more to himself than to Dumbledore. "My mother's protection. Did it work for him as well? I don't understand."  
_

_"Lily's sacrifice can only protect who she sacrificed her life to save," Dumbeldore answered. "But while your mother's blood flowed in Voldemort's veins, your two lives were tethered together. That which he does not understand, he does not value. And there is so much Voldemort does not understand. House-elves and children's tales and love, loyalty, innocence... Of all those things, Voldemort knows _nothing_. It has all been beyond his ability to grasp."  
_

_"And is he... is he dead?" Harry looked at the fragmented soul. "Is there more of him, out in the world?"  
_

_"Oh yes," Dumbledore answered gravely. "The piece of his soul that still resides in his body is alive, and so is he. He attempted to kill you with his wand, and served only to kill part of himself. But not all... no, not all. Which is why, my dear boy, you must continue to fight this battle. The end is near, and he has so much more to fear than you."  
_

_"Will I win?"  
_

_"Ah, Harry... if I had the power to see the future, perhaps so much of our lives might have been different." He looked wistful for a moment, his thoughts on far away matters. Then his eyes slid back to Harry's face and he added, "As you must have learned by now, seeing the future is a very rare gift indeed... though some may think it a curse. But, should I hazard a guess, I would say it is very likely you would succeed. You have courage, you have love, you have an understanding of sacrifice and freedom. All these, Voldemort does not have. Yes, I should say you would win."  
_

_"Even without the Elder wand?"  
_

_"A wand can be powerful, Harry, but it is the power of the witch or wizard that truly matters. And besides... who is to say the Elder wand is not yours by right? The wand chooses the wizard, after all, and not the other way around."  
_

_Harry nodded, even though he did not fully understand. The bewilderment he felt grew to irritation, and abruptly the irritation turned into frustrated fury. As usual, Dumbledore was being evasive in his answers. Couldn't he simply give a straight yes or no? Couldn't he answer the question asked instead of hinting at bits of knowledge that might have meant something else completely? Why did he always have to be such an enigma?  
_

_Something moved again, right before his eyes, to blurry for him to see. It was mist and vapor and fog, gone just as quickly as it came, just a flash of silver.  
_

_"The Hallows," Harry said suddenly. "I saw... I saw them. My parents. My mother." A faint smile pulled at his lips as he thought of her, red hair and green eyes, _his _eyes.  
_

_Dumbledore winced, but answered steadily, "Yes, Harry. The Hallows. A fool's dream. And I was such a fool. Such a fool, indeed." And it unfolded slowly, painfully, the story of a child locked within her own mind, a family falling apart, a prideful boy searching for praise, a young, would-be Dark Lord hunting for power.  
_

_Harry swallowed back his emotions, listening quietly. He had heard it all before from Aberforth, heard the horror of their childhood, of their mother's death, of Grindelwald's coming, of Ariana's final actions. Too late to take back the wrongs that had been done, too late to save the family that had turned upon itself, crashing and burning. But to hear it from Dumbledore , to hear him talk of his own resentment, his desire to shine, his thirst for knowledge... It was to see the man who he had once thought infallible, practically inhuman in his wisdom, as nothing more than a child. A boy with too much responsibility on his shoulders, a boy who could not withstand the temptation of power.  
_

_"Grindelwald," Dumbledore murmured. "Oh, you cannot imagine how his ideas inflamed me."  
_

_And yet... Harry could imagine it. Because those very ideas had inflamed him as well. The desire to find the Hallows... hadn't that bordered on obsession? He did not need to ask Dumbledore to know that he had been kept in the dark for a reason. Only Hermione's continual comments had kept him from allowing his hot head to rule his good heart. Without her, would he have attempted to control the Hallows the way Dumbledore had?  
_

_Probably.  
_

_They were more alike than even he had fully understood. Until now.  
_

_Dumbledore continued his story, a story that had turned into one of regret and guilt and self-recrimination. A story of his own determination to avoid power, to keep away from it as much as possible. And understanding that he could not be trusted with it, because power corrupted.  
_

_And absolute power corrupted absolutely.  
_

_"They say he feared me," Dumbledore said softly, "and perhaps he did. But not nearly as much as I feared him. Oh, not death. No, what I feared was his knowledge. You see, I never knew who cast the curse... in that last, dreadful fight... the horrific curse that killed my sister. But he knew... and I was afraid of facing him. Of learning the truth... Oh, Harry, I dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually struck the blow that snuffed out her life."  
_

_He gave a little shuddering gasp and a single tear made its way down his cheek.  
_

_"I think he knew it. I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until finally it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People were drying and he seemed unstoppable and I had to do what I could. And you know what happened next. I won the duel. I won the wand."  
_

_Harry looked around the place, and realized, quite suddenly, that he was in King's Cross station. Trains passed silently behind him, making no noise at all. And still Dumbledore stared at him, his ragged breathing and the pitiful weeping of the broken child the only sound in the stillness.  
_

_It would not be easy to go back. He had already lost so much to Voldemort... too much. His mother, his father, his godfather, his mentor, Dobby... how many more would die before this was over? How could he return again to face the possibility of his death? Or, worse still, the possibility of losing? Of watching the world crumble around him, of knowing that his failure to defeat Voldemort had brought about the enslavement of people like Hermione? She would be killed... or worse.  
_

_If he died now, if he simply got on a train and did not come back...  
_

_But he could not. Like Dumbledore, he had to face his fears, face all that had happened. He could not go backwards, so all he could do was move forward and hope it would be enough. Was that the lesson he was supposed to learn here? That the past was over and done with, and the only way anyone could ever go was forward?  
_

_But he did not want to learn it. He did not want to go back. He did not want to leave at all...  
_

_There were so many other questions he wanted to ask. A morbid part of him wanted to know if Dumbledore had learned the truth from Grindelwald, had learned who had actually killed the young Ariana. Another part wanted to demand answers about Snape, about how that vile man could have ever been considered trustworthy. And all the while a voice in his head was demanding to know if Dumbledore had known this all along, had planned on this ending since the very beginning, since he first heard the prophesy. Or was it just something that he had realized only shortly before his death? And why, why, _why _did this all have to happen to him?  
_

_Did he really believe in the power of love even when it hurt so much to lose someone?  
_

_He opened his mouth to demand the answers, or perhaps to refuse to return. He was not sure what he wanted to say, only that he was so tired and he did not want to face Voldemort again.  
_

_And then the same silver glow appeared, faint and barely discernible. He caught a glimpse of movement, a fluttering of red and white, a glimmer goal...  
_

_And green. For a moment, he saw eyes staring back at him. Green and smiling and so like his, and in that fraction of a second, just the tiniest heartbeat of time...  
_

_He knew.  
_

_They were his mother's eyes.  
_

_Dumbledore had always said the power of love could outshine all other magic. It was the Hallows that had brought her spirit here, that had allowed him to see her ghost, the imprint of her departed soul for just a few minutes in the woods. But even though he had dropped the Resurrection Stone, she was still here, still lingering within him. He could not always see her, but at least he could feel her presence, feel the warmth in his heart that he finally realized was due to her.  
_

_"I have to go back, don't I?" Harry murmured wearily.  
_

_He never did ask any of the other questions.  
_

Harry shoved the door open and stormed into the room, his eyes narrowed in anger. He did not know how he had entered Hogwarts unnoticed by anyone. Minerva McGonagall was dead, so there was no longer a Headmistress to guard the hallowed halls. But he assumed that there had to be others - Professors and staff - who should have seen him rushing haphazardly across the grounds.

No one had seen him, or at least no one had stopped him, and perhaps that was for the best.

He stood then, in the center of the oval-shaped room, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The gargoyle had sprung aside without even asking for a password, and he had climbed the circular staircase with the blood pounding in his ears. But now that he was here, now that he was staring hard at Dumbledore's portrait, all the fury came rushing together in such a torrent that it made it nearly impossible to speak.

Dumbledore did not seem surprised to see him. The portrait smiled, his blue eyes twinkling merrily, and that only served to make Harry angrier.

He wanted to demand an explanation. Why had Snape been trying to save McGonagall? Why did Snape even care? How did he know what was going on in the rest of the world when he was in hiding? What was going to happen now that McGonagall and Diggory were both dead and Kingsley was in Azkaban? How could Dumbledore had died, have left them so alone, when they desperately needed a leader? It was as though the entire world was crumbling right before his very eyes, and he had no idea how to stop it.

Hadn't he already fought for the world once? Wasn't that enough? Would it _ever _be enough?

But it was not those questions that he asked. He had not spoken much to the portrait since the battle for Hogwarts. He had not wanted to dwell on the past, on what had happened, what he had lost. He wanted instead to move forward, to leave the turmoil and agony of war behind and enter what he had hoped would be a better world. So the question, the quiet one that lingered in the back of his mind, whispering its words only in the still of the night when there was nothing at all to distract him... it was the question that suddenly came bursting forth.

"Did you always know I was the last Horcrux? Did you know that all along?"

The portrait at least did not lie to him. "I suspected it," he answered, "from the moment I first guessed that Voldemort was using Horcruxes."

"You knew I would _die_?"

"I hoped you would not."

"Hope? _Hope_? You risked _my _life on hope?"

The blue eyes were no longer twinkling. "Hope is all we ever have in a war, Harry," was the reproachful reply. "Hope that tomorrow will be better. That we can make it better."

"I can't just sit around and hope," Harry spat in reply. He ignored the other portraits on the wall, not bothering to watch the way they leaned towards him, listening avidly to the conversation. "It isn't enough." He stopped, drew a breath, tried to get his temper under control. Then gave up on that entirely and found himself shouting, "You raised me to be _killed_! To die in _your _war! Did you _ever _care about me or was that just some stupid trick of yours, just like _everything else_?"

"Harry..."

"Headmistress McGonagall is dead, and Kingsley is in Azkaban. The Ministry is falling apart now that Minister Diggory is dead and... I just _fought _this war. I _already _stopped Voldemort. It should be over and done with, but it _isn't_! We're still fighting, still _losing_, and all you have to tell me is that I should have _hope_?"

"Yes." The words were harder now, and came with an edge that Harry had never once heard directed at him. "That is all you can have, Harry. And you are right, you did stopVoldemort . You did already fight this war. And you won it. But we are always fighting to make the world better, and just because you defeated one enemy does not mean there will never be others."

Harry sagged against the desk. He had no idea what would happen now, who would become the next Headmaster or Headmistress. With Hannigan in charge of the Ministry, it could be anyone at all. Would the school fall into the wrong hands, would it be controlled by another Dark witch or wizard? How many times would he have to fight the same evil? How many times would this happen before he could truly rest?

"And this is far more than just my war, Harry. It is _your _war, too."

Green eyes blinked several times in response. "Then why were you the one making all the decisions?" he asked viciously.

The portrait gave a weary sigh and ran a painted hand over his painted face. "Did you want it to be you who made the decisions?"Dumbledore asked finally.

"_Yes_!"

"Really?" There was a pause filled with skepticism, then Dumbledore continued, "Did you want to be the one to decide which sacrifice was necessary? I sent people on missions I knew might kill them. I sent people on errands I knew _would _kill them. I..." His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he said, "I knew that you might die. I hoped you would not, but I knew... as long as Voldemort's soul resided within you, he would live. But riding you of the soul could very well cost you your life. Is that a decision you would have wanted to make, Harry? To decide whether or not to risk the life of an innocent child or to risk all the lives of every decent person in the world?"

"It still... it was my life and I... I should have been the one to make... make the decision to do... to do what I needed..." Harry faltered, his words suddenly coming in short bursts of emotion. He looked at the ground, shaking his head. "You should have trusted me to do the right thing."

"Oh, Harry... I _did _trust you. More than you know. But I... I knew what you were facing and I wanted to spare you that until... until you _had _to face it." The portrait smiled sadly, regretfully. "I am sorry for everything I put you through, my dear boy. I only did what I thought was best for the world. And for you."

"I can't keep doing this," Harry muttered. "I can't... Why did you have to make everything so _difficult _for me? Why couldn't you just tell me the truth about the Deathly Hallows at the beginning? Or the prophesy? Or... anything? Why did you always have to speak in riddles?"

"You know why I was hesitant to tell you about the Hallows," Dumbledore answered softly. "You may not have been as tempted as I was... indeed, you likely would not have. But I... I could not take a chance that you would ruin your life the way I had ruined mine. I know what longing does... I know what the Hallows can do to a man inflamed by longing. I only tried to keep you from making my mistakes." He paused, then added, "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the search for the Hallows would not have torn you apart."

Unbidden, the thought of Ron's face, tightened with frustration and disappointment, and of Hermione's choking tears, rose in his mind. They had nearly fallen apart on that mission, the divisions between them becoming too much. Ron had left, and although he had returned, his brief abandonment had taken a while to forget. And how many times had he started arguments with Hermione when she refused to follow his lead and chase after fairy tales and children's stories? It had not been untilDobby's death that he had finally pulled himself back to the task before him, to the necessity of destroying the remaining Horcruxes. Like Dumbledore, it had taken the death of someone he held dear to realize he was on the wrong path.

He had no way of knowing that at that exact moment the portrait of Dumbledore was thinking that it had taken a death of the one person that Snape loved to push him back to the right path... and all three of them were far more alike than any would care to admit.

"I have made many mistakes in my long life," the portrait said, "but I have tried my best to deal with the circumstances that I was given. It is all we can ever ask of each other. I am deeply sorry for any pain I caused you, but I did what I thought was right."

"Even if it meant controlling the lives of others?" Harry retorted, although his voice was rapidly losing its heat and temper.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered simply. "Each side needs a leader who is willing to do what is necessary to win the war. I truly hope for a future in which that sort of fighting is no longer needed. But in the meantime, I was willing to make the difficult decisions so that no one else would have to. You know as well as I do that there are things far worse than death. I did not fear the end, but I hated the pain of knowingly causing others harm. my own death was easy to bear. The death of others was not."

Harry folded his arms over his chest and tried to come up with a logical argument for that. But what could he say? If he had had to make the decision between saving the world and say... saving Ginny? Ron? Hermione? What would he have done? Would he have had the strength to go through with the plan, to do what was necessary? Dying was far easier than being responsible for the death of others.

"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living."

Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose..."

The conversation with Dumbledore's portrait had not left him with any feelings of comfort or reassurance. Instead, he walked away with more questions than answers, still troubled by all that had happened and all that would continue to happen. But, asDumbledore had said, each person had to do their best with what they were given, had to rely on the idea, the _hope_, that tomorrow could be better if they just fought for it. It was with those turbulent thoughts rushing through his mind that he arrived back at his empty flat.

Well, almost empty.

Ron was at the Burrow, along with Ginny and Hermione. But there, sitting on his sofa, patiently waiting for him to return home, was Draco Malfoy.


	23. Trials and Tribulations

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Mr. Weasley makes a request, Percy takes a risk, and Harry struggles to make sense of the truth.

* * *

_Not all that is gold does glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Twenty-Two: Trials and Tribulations

The situation was getting worse by the second.

It did not take long for Percy to realize that the world was practically going up in flames. The deaths of the Minister and the Headmistress were enough to send even the most docile over the edge with anger, and when Kingsley's supposed revenge was added to the mix… well, he reflected glumly, it was a miracle civil war hadn't broken out yet.

He was back at the Ministry, and now it seemed as though he might never leave. Already, piles of parchments were cluttering his desk, each demanding to be answered and dealt with right away. Outside his partially open door, others were gathered, talking in low voices and hushed tones. He would occasionally catch snippets of their conversations as they moved past, and that was enough to know that they were all facing some serious trouble.

Lost in his own dark thoughts, Percy barely even registered the door opening further and Penelope stepping into the room. She crossed to the desk before he managed to look up, and all he could offer was a wan smile.

"How are you?" she asked gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, I suppose," Percy answered with a little shrug. "Better than Harry."

Penny waved her wand idly, conjuring another chair, and took a seat across from him. "So he really saw…?"

Percy nodded with a dispassionate expression. "Yes, he saw the Headmistress die. Only in his story…" He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the palm of one hand, "Things are so complicated right now. Harry says that Kingsley did make a deal with Snape…"

"_Why_?" Penny demanded, aghast.

"Because apparently Snape did not actually have anything to do with McGonagall's kidnapping," Percy muttered, "and we actually wanted to save her. I still don't quite understand how the Malfoys fit into this, though."

"So what happens now?"

It was a question without an answer, and Percy let it hang in the air, echoing in silence. Finally, when it became evident that there was really nothing he could say about the subject that would ease their heavy hearts, he opted to switch to a different, although still frustrating, topic.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work? I thought Ginny was coming in to shadow you today. Again."

Penny grimaced lightly, but nodded. "She is. But not for another hour. I have some time."

From there, the conversation turned towards lighter subjects, although neither could quite dismiss the less-than-pleasant concerns from their minds, and so their words were shadowed by worry and fear.

Finally, as Penny rose to leave, Percy caught her arm. She looked back, and he said softly, "Look, Pen… I know things with Ginny are… awkward…" Penny gave a dark chuckle at the understatement, and Percy continued, "But she is my sister. So can you at least try to… be civil? I know she can probably be… temperamental… still…" he faltered, hesitating once more, unable to coherently say what he wanted to express.

But Penny nodded, understanding. "I can try," she promised. "I can't guarantee I will succeed, but I can certainly try."

It was all he could hope for, as he well knew. Ginny's temper was easily frayed and Penny was slow to forgive slights against anyone she cared about, however justified they might be. But these were two of the most important women in his life, and he needed them to get along. Or, at least, to try.

Only moments after Penny slipped out the door, it opened once more, and Percy looked up in surprise.

"Father?"

Mr. Weasley shut the door firmly behind him and strode forward, his expression grim. Without preamble or pleasantries, he said, "We need you to call for a trial for Kingsley."

Percy blinked, confused. "Who is we? And why? Isn't a trial the last thing we would want?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No. The last thing we want is for him to receive a sentence without a trial. Which, given the current public sentiment against him and Hannigan's own agenda, is exactly what will happen. Unless we can prevent it. It will buy us time, at least, to figure out a way out of this mess."

Percy considered this for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. "I see." His father did not need to elaborate on the issue of who was behind this, either, as it was clear from his silence and the nervousness of his continually moving gaze that this idea came from the remnants of the Order, the few who still survived and still believed in Kingsley's innocence.

He had no doubt that, should Hannigan succeed in his bid for Minister, those remaining Order members would be his first targets. Well, after the Malfoys and a few other Death Eater sympathizers, of course.

"Politically, you are the one in the best position to push for a trial," Mr. Weasley added. "Hermione is going to speak to Luna, and I believe her father's newspaper will run an article asking for the same thing. We will need to use a slant that the public will buy, of course."

Percy gave a vague nod. "And how exactly do you want me to do this?"

"Just casually mention to Hannigan, preferably while there are other notable witches and wizards in the room, that Kingsley betrayed us all and we all deserve to hear him confess, to force him to face what he did. Can you do that?"

Percy bristled. "Of course I can manage it, Father," he answered quickly, tightly. Sure, he had never done any type of work for the Order, having been opposed to the organization while they were still n existence, but it was not as though this was some type of complicated subterfuge. It was simply uttering a few words, and that would not be too difficult.

"I did not mean…" Mr. Weasley stopped with a weary sigh. "I did not mean to imply you could not do it, son." Percy did not answer right away, and so the elder man said, "I just want to make sure this goes… well. Hannigan is a dangerous man, if he becomes suspicious of you or your intentions…" He trailed off and did not finish the statement.

He did not need to finish it, Percy understood the risks. "It will be fine, Father," he said firmly, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

"Thank you. Be careful." And without another word, Mr. Weasley left, exiting just as quickly and abruptly as he had come.

Under any other circumstances, Percy might have been annoyed at how easily he had had his services requested and then been dismissed. The tension in his family was far from resolved, but he at least thought he was making some headway with his father. Still… he knew, better than most, just how easily the Ministry could become swept up in one person's schemes, and under these circumstances he fully agreed that there was hardly time to waste on empty words.

His father had asked for his help. On a matter of supreme importance, his father had asked for his help.

Maybe it was a step in the right direction after all.

It was those thoughts that were still echoing through his mind when, nearly thirty minutes later, he found himself approaching Hannigan with a stack of parchment in his arms. "Uh… Mr. Hannigan?"

"Yes, Weasley?" the man in question replied with a slight nod of his head to acknowledge the younger wizard.

Percy held out the parchment and explained, "Some… requests… came for the Minister over the past two days. And he didn't have a chance to look at them before…" He paused, flushing slightly, unable to bring himself to utter the words of Diggory's murder, and rushed on, "They are not particularly urgent matters, but they are in regards to decisions that I am not in a position to make. I thought perhaps you could look at them and advise me, sir?"

Hannigan smiled eagerly. "Of course."

They were standing in a hallway near the entrance of the Atrium, within earshot of Abbott and a few people Percy recognized from the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, as well as a reporter wearing a badge from the Daily Prophet and a cluster of Ministry workers Percy thought vaguely might be Unspeakables. Hannigan was clearly basking in the glory of Percy's obvious implication that he was close to becoming Minister, and the others were hanging on his every word.

"I know you might not have a lot of time, though," Percy added with a faintly apologetic smile, "with Shacklebolt's trial coming up and all that."

"Trial?" Hannigan nearly sputtered, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Percy winced inwardly, but remembering that this job had been given to him and not anyone else, he pushed forward bravely. "Oh…" he said, looking contrite, "I just assumed there would be one. We all trusted him and he betrayed us. He needs to be made to account for it now that he no longer has… _protection_."

"Indeed," Hannigan said slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. "We can't have him getting off easily just because they used to be well-respected by those with influence."

Percy knew that was a subtle slight against both Dumbledore and the Order, although he would not dare to say so aloud. Since the final battle, very few had expressed anything but love, respect, and adoration for the deceased Headmaster.

Still, he forced himself to smile and reply, "Exactly, sir."

Hoping that his words had been enough, he left the parchment in Hannigan's outstretched arms and turned away, his heart still hammering in his chest. He had not expected that exchanging pleasantries and few comments with anyone could leave him this nerve-wracked, and he suddenly had much more appreciation for what the members of the Order had been forced to endure during the year of Ministry denial. Subterfuge might not always involve wands or weapons or even magic, but that did not make it any less dangerous.

* * *

_The figured, robe all in black, identity obscured by a traveling cloak, moved silently and swiftly up the steps to the small house, moving with obvious determination. And yet, still, there was a sense of hesitation in the steps, as though the person needed to be here, and yet still did not want to come. Harry watched, intrigued and a little worried, wondering what drama was about to unfold before his very eyes._

_Beside Harry, Draco Malfoy watched dispassionately, his expression closely guarded. Harry slanted a glance towards his unusual companion, replaying the recent events in his mind. He had not expected to return to his flat and find the proud Slytherin waiting for him, nor had he expected Malfoy's insistent request that he looked at the vial of memories the blonde-haired boy had brought. He said, over and over, that the memories would prove vital for saving Kingsley, and didn't Harry want that? But every instinct had been telling him not to listen for when had Malfoy ever done anything without some ulterior motive?_

_Still, thoughts of Dumbledore's calm façade and McGonagall's lifeless body kept replaying through his mind, and seized by a rash and possibly foolish bravery, he had followed Malfoy into the pensieve._

_Which was how he ended up here, standing on the steps outside the home he recognized as belonging to his Aunt Petunia and Dudley, frowning at the faint moonlight trickling down from the sky and illuminating the neatly trimmed lawn._

_The figure knocked on the door, sharply and impatiently._

_Judging by the stars, Harry could guess that it was not much after nine o'clock, and so visitors would not be completely unheard of at this hour. Still, he was a little surprised as the door slid cautiously open and Petunia's face peered out into the night._

"_Who are you?" she asked shakily, eyes travelling up and down the figure. "What do you want?"_

_The hood of the traveling cloak came down then, revealing sallow skin, a hook nose, and a sheet of damp and greasy hair. Harry inhaled sharply, whispering, "Snape," as a hot anger boiled in his stomach. Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly, but did not make any other motion._

_It was Petunia's reaction that surprised the young green-eyed wizard the most, though. Instead of reacting with surprise, confusion, or fear – all natural reactions if a weird looking stranger showed up at her door after dark – she sneered, her eyes filling with disgust._

"_Snape."_

_Harry gaped. Andromeda Tonks had claimed that Lily and Snape were friends at Hogwarts, but Harry had dismissed it as nothing more than a vague friendship, the sort that would start because Lily was the type of person to take pity on an outcast and could not possibly have wanted to stand aside and watch others mock or abuse the lonely and awkward Snape. But now it appeared that Aunt Petunia knew Snape as well…_

_And how exactly could he explain that?_

"_Mum? Who is it?" a voice called, and Dudley appeared behind his mother._

"_No one, Dudders," Petunia said, turning to her son with a smile. "Go back, alright?"_

_But Dudley had caught sight of Snape and shook his head determinedly. "No! It's one of those freaks like the one that killed Dad!" His hands balled into fists, his eyes glittered with anger. He had lost weight since the beginning of his hiding, but he was still a big man, and carried a lot of physical weight. He was obviously thinking that his mother was in danger, and he would not leave her alone._

_Of course, Harry knew perfectly well that if Snape had wanted to kill Petunia, there was nothing Dudley would have been able to do to stop it._

_But, again to Harry's surprise, Petunia said, "It's alright, Dudley. He's not… Snape won't hurt me. Go back to the kitchen."_

"_Others might come," Dudley protested. "The war…"_

"_The war is over," Snape interjected smoothly, black eyes turning to Dudley. "The Dark Lord is gone and most of his followers have been found and imprisoned. It is doubtful you are in any real danger."_

"_Go back to the kitchen," Petunia repeated, now practically pleading with her son._

_And Dudley, ever so slowly, nodded and turned, moving away._

_Petunia waited until her son was out of earshot, then spun to face Snape again. "What do you want?" she demanded, her tone filled with disgust once more. Her eyes studied his face and she added with a drawl, "You did not grow any more handsome with age, did you? And still in tatters?" She glanced at his traveling cloak, which was frayed in places and pursed her lips._

_Snape added easily and without pause, "And you did not grow any more pleasant, did you?"_

_Petunia laughed, a dark, ironic chuckle. "Pleasant?" she repeated, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "_Pleasant_? When all your kind has ever done is to make my life worse? My husband is dead because of you and your war, because of my sister's brat of a son…" She paused, dark splotches of color marring her pale complexion, and inhaled slowly in an attempt to control her anger. "We watched him until he was seventeen, gave him a place to live and food to eat and what did he do in return? Vernon is dead now because…" Again, she stopped, obviously unable to continue._

"_I did not know about your husband's death," Snape offered, his tone neutral. "You have my… sympathy."_

_Petunia shook her head and looked away. "Your sympathy means nothing, Snape."_

_Harry took a few steps closer, watching the exchange, wishing he knew what it meant. There was an underlying connection, something that had passed between them before, some context to the conversation that he was missing. Malfoy did not seem to know any more than he did, although he had at least seen the end of the memory and knew what happened when it was all over._

_Petunia swallowed nervously, and then said, "What do you want, Snape? My sister is no longer around, you cannot stalk her every move."_

_Snape flushed, looking angry. "I never…"_

"_You always did," Petunia hissed. "Always! Hiding in the bushes and watching us. Luring her away the moment you knew she was a freak like you! You couldn't wait to get her away from me, couldn't wait to pull her into your world and make her forget about the rest of us. Sneaking around and reading my letters and then telling her about it? You filthy…"_

_Snape retorted coldly, "And you? Hiding and watching us? Calling your own sister a freak because you did not get the magic that came to her? Sneering at me and my home and my clothing just because you could? Do not put yourself on a pedestal, Mrs. Dursley, it is a long way to fall. If you hadn't been so determined to have everything Lily had, maybe you wouldn't have called her freak so often."_

"_Better than Mudblood."_

_There was a complete silence after Petunia's comment as Snape seemed to be trying in vain to push his emotions behind a mask. Petunia looked triumphant, her lips twisted into a smile, and Snape lowered his gaze for a moment, collecting himself._

"_Yes, I know about that," Petunia said fiercely. "I never cared, never wanted to hear a single thing about her oh-so-precious life, but it was hard not to, when she came home and sobbed about it over and over after her fifth year at the freak school. How her best friend in the whole world had turned on her, had become a hypocrite, a bigot, a power-hungry, greedy, cowardly…"_

"_Shut up!"_

_The pure rage in Snape's voice took Harry by surprise, as did the look of a wounded, panic-ridden animal that surfaced momentarily in the potion Master's gaze._

_Petunia stopped. After a pause, she repeated one last time, "What do you want, Snape?"_

"_I only came to tell you the war was over," Snape answered finally, his voice back to his drawling tone. "Perhaps I needn't have bothered, but I assume that the rest of the wizarding world would have forgotten about you by now and so you might not know. Surely your nephew would not have bothered to come."_

_Petunia shrugged. "And good riddance to him."_

_And without another word, she slammed the door in Snape's face._

_Harry turned to Malfoy as the memory around him began to fade. "What does this have to do with anything?" he demanded hotly. "All it shows is that Snape was friends with my mother before he went and got her killed. Which isn't a whole lot of help for Kingsley. Why are you wasting my time?"_

"_I'm not," Malfoy answered. "There's just one more memory. Use your brain for once, Potter, and try to pay attention. It might not be easy for you, but after several years of school, I assume you at least have _some_ intelligence."_

"_More than you," Harry snapped._

_Malfoy shrugged but did not reply, and the next memory appeared around them. They were standing in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. It was daytime, and sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the dust motes that hung suspended in the air. Several of the portraits were asleep, leaning against their frames, eyelids fluttering with dreams._

_Snape was standing in the center of the office, staring hard at Dumbledore's portrait. Harry assumed that this memory must have occurred prior to the other one, perhaps at some point while Snape was still Headmaster._

"_It is not the Dark Lord I fear," Snape was saying, his expression grim. "But… Minerva is becoming troublesome. My threats have not been enough to give her pause. I cannot let her subordination stand, or word of it may travel through the Carrows to the other Death Eaters. She would be beyond my protection then."_

"_She has not backed off when you threaten harsher punishments for the students?" Dumbledore asked with a frown, leaning forward in his portrait frame. There was just the tiniest bit of pride in his voice, and yet some concern and worry as well._

_Snape grumbled in reply, "No. She hesitates, she does not wish to cause any unnecessary pain. But she is far too ridiculously noble and courageous to back down, even when she has already lost the fight." Turning away from the portrait, he stared through Harry and Malfoy towards the window, watching the sunlight. "Bloody Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath._

"_How long can you delay…?"_

_Snape shrugged and did not face Dumbledore as he replied, "It depends on how far she goes, which lines she crosses. I doubt anything would further stop her, though, except…" He trailed off and did not finish the sentence._

_Dumbledore's gaze hardened. "A step I can assume neither of us would feel comfortable with, Severus," he said softly, although in a tone filled with steely resolve. "There is a better way, we must simply find it."_

_This time Snape did spin to face Dumbledore, his eyes filled with an uncharacteristic fury. For all his hard edges and cold façade, Snape rarely displayed emotion so openly as he did at that moment, and Harry could not help but feel startled by the depths of anger, hopelessness, and anguish in his eyes. "Don't you think I know that, Dumbledore?" he snarled, voice shaking. "Do you really think I haven't tried to come up with every possibility? But you know as well as I do that the only thing that will stop Minerva is permanent damage to a student, and I _cannot_ inflict that on any of them."_

_In a conciliatory tone, Dumbledore murmured, "I know. I know this is a difficult situation and you are doing your best."_

"_My best," Snape sneered. "My best has not been enough, has it? Not for Lily, certainly, and now not for Minerva. I cannot save anyone, it seems."_

"_You saved Harry on several occasions," Dumbledore countered, "for which I am quite confident Lily will always be grateful. Even death cannot change that."_

"_Not enough," Snape hissed in a low tone. "It seems to be never enough."_

_Dumbledore continued as though he had not heard Snape's words, "And you saved young Mr. Malfoy. You saved him from becoming a murderer, from being forced to kill me. He might not realize it now, but you did him a great service that night, saving his soul."_

_Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy, but the wizard refused to meet his gaze. His eyes were fixed on Snape, and Harry could have sworn he saw something flickering through the pale orbs, something that looked very much like gratitude._

_Snape lifted dark eyes to the deceased Headmaster's portrait. "And my own soul? I did not save _that_, did I?"_

_The portrait was silent for a moment, then asked in a discouraged voice, "Will you never forgive me for asking you to kill me?"_

_Harry snapped his gaze to Dumbledore, shocked and confused. "What?" he breathed._

"_I was dying anyway," Dumbledore continued, "and this was for the best. It was the only way to ensure that Voldemort would give you the school, and you needed to become Headmaster to protect the students from the other Death Eaters."_

"_I was willing to spy for you," Snape muttered, turning away again and sinking into a stiff-backed wooden chair. "I was willing to put myself in danger, time and again, to bring you information. I have been… hurt… by the Dark Lord, by other Death Eaters. I have been forced to watch others die to maintain my cover. And I was willing to do so, because I… I knew it was right. Fighting this war. And I…" He stopped and shook his head. "I loved her. Lily."_

_Harry gaped._

"_I know."_

"_But to kill you? For everything else you ever asked of me, I was able to forgive you. But asking that? No… No, Dumbledore, I will not forgive you for that."_

_The portrait heaved a weary sigh. "I am sorry," he murmured._

_Snape nodded slowly. "Me, too," he whispered, but it was clear from his expression he was no longer talking to the portrait. And his next words confirmed it as he added, "I'm sorry, Lily. I have tried to keep Harry safe for you… I have tried to… to be better…"_

_There was a silence as Snape stared blankly ahead, lost in his own thoughts. Then, after a moment of reflection, he rose once more to his feet, his expression determined. "I will do what I can to delay the Dark Lord's wrath against Minerva and the others who follow her. But I cannot delay him forever. Potter must return soon."_

"_Have faith that he will," Dumbledore's portrait answered, and then the memory ended…_

… And Harry found himself standing in his own flat, Malfoy next to him, both staring hard at the pensieve and the shimmering silver almost-liquid inside.

"No…" Harry gasped, unable to understand what he had seen. "The memories… they are fake… they must… they _must_ be…" He turned away, walking on wobbling legs, and made it only as far as the sofa before he was forced to catch himself against the furniture. He let out a shaky breath, feeling dizzy and light-headed.

"They weren't," Malfoy said. "You know they weren't."

And he did know that they weren't fake, that they hadn't been tampered with. Because he knew what a memory looked like when it had been altered to conceal the truth. He had seen the foggy, congealed appearance of Slughorn's fake memory, of what he had tried to pass off as a truthful interaction with the young Tom Riddle. And these memories contained none of that…

No, they were real.

And yet… how could they be?

"It doesn't change anything," Harry muttered, feeling suddenly full of fury. "He still… he still got my mother killed. And my father. He… he betrayed them! It doesn't matter that he… that he's sorry…"

To which Malfoy replied mildly, "I was under the impression that it was Peter Pettigrew who brought about your parents' death. And the Dark Lord."

Harry turned to face him, rage etched into the lines of his face. "What do you know of it?" he sneered. "Was your Dad palls with that rat? Was he?"

Malfoy paled but did not reply to the question. Instead, he said, "Snape did not kill McGonagall. It is obvious from the memory that he would not have ever done it. We have to find the people who did and bring them to justice. That will prove Shacklebolt innocent of whatever crime Hannigan tries to attach to his name. We can clear them both, him and Snape."

"Clear him?" Harry hissed. "From what? Those memories do not change anything!"

"Are you bloody mad?" Malfoy snapped in reply, growing more and more impatient. "They change everything! That's your proof that Snape was always on your side. Always."

"Except when he took the prophesy to Voldemort," Harry answered. "Except when he joined the Death Eaters in the first place!"

Malfoy clenched his hands into fists. "People deserve second chances."

Harry, tears of frustration, confusion, and anger almost pooling in his green eyes, replied, "You would not be saying that if it was _your_ parents who were dead." He looked away from the Slytherin, still trying to order his thoughts. Dumbledore believed in second chances, and he had granted one to Snape. It would have been hypocritical for the old Headmaster not to, given what had happened in _his_ youth, and the mistakes he had made. But although Dumbledore seemed able to forgive Snape for his past sins, Harry simply could not. Because, no matter what Snape said or did not, James and Lily were still dead. And he had been partially responsible for it.

Malfoy answered sharply, "So you will let him suffer for crimes he did not commit?"

Harry shook his head. "No. But I will willingly let him receive punishment for the crimes he did commit. Don't pretend he is completely blameless."

"I'm not," Malfoy argued. "But don't you think years of risking his life to spy on the Dark Lord is punishment enough?"

"You just feel indebted because he saved you," Harry retorted.

Malfoy frowned and answered, "He saved you, too."

Harry leaned heavily against the sofa and rubbed his eyes with the palms of both hands. It was true, of course, that Snape had saved him on a few different occasions. Ron had always maintained that it was because he would have gotten in trouble with Dumbledore if he hadn't have done it. Even Hermione had changed her opinion after their sixth year, agreeing that it was all just a cover, a way of earning Dumbledore's trust. But now…

Did the reasons even matter? Did it make any difference?

He had spent the first ten years of his life living in a closet underneath the stairs. He had spent nearly seventeen years being called everything from ungrateful brat, to lazy-good-for-nothing, to freak. He had been ignored, neglected, and insulted at every possible chance. He had no memories of his parents save for a flash of green light.

Because of Snape.

He had not forgiven Pettigrew, and he certainly could never forgive Voldemort… why would Snape be any different?

"He doesn't deserve…" Malfoy began, but Harry cut him off with a snarl.

"Yes, he does! He deserves Azkaban. He deserves the Dementor's Kiss."

And, quite suddenly, he remembered a conversation he had had with Lupin during his third year, back when he still believed that Sirius had betrayed his parents, when he had been informed that the Dementor's Kiss was the fate that awaited the escaped convict. And what was it Lupin had said?

"_You think so? Do you think anyone really deserves that?"_

Behind his closed eyelids he could hear the faint cries of his mother's final words, Voldemort's high laughter, his father desperately trying to save them… and he would always remember that final flash of green, the burst of noise that filled the air… and that last, sudden silence.

Then he thought of the others who had died, of Dobby's lifeless eyes and Lupin and Tonk's bodies sprawled across the floor of the Great Hall, of the hollow look in George's eyes as Fred collapsed to the ground, of Sirius' exuberant laugh still echoing through the room as he disappeared behind the veil…

… of Dumbledore, suspended mid-air…

Of the hatred in Snape's eyes as he uttered the killing curse, of the Snape from the memory who could forgive Dumbledore for everything except that final request…

He sank onto the sofa, unable to fully grasp any of what he had learned. But Malfoy was right about one thing, at least, and that was that the only way to save Kingsley was to find Runcorn and Yaxley and prove Hannigan's role in the plot. They could not even begin to clear Snape until after they had done that, so really…

He did not need to make any decisions regarding the potion Master quite yet. First, he had to find the other villains of this particular story, and stop them. They had fought this war twice already, each time losing so much. But they had one that final battle, and it was supposed to be over.

Harry knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he could not possibly hope to survive yet another war. Even if he lived through it physically, it would destroy him emotionally. This had to end… _now_.


	24. The Beginning of the End

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: With the trial of Kingsley Shacklebolt looming in the near future and the fate of the wizarding world resting on their shoulders, Harry and Malfoy take off on a risky mission to find the real villains.

* * *

_Not all that is gold does glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Beginning of the End

He hadn't brought Hermione or Ron with him when he tracked down Kingsley and Snape, and that had turned out to be a disaster. But he was reluctant to take them now, knowing full well how they would react to his plans. He didn't want their derision or their defiance, and yet they were his best friends and he owed them the honesty. They deserved to know what he was about to do.

It was a dilemma, and yet, oddly enough, it was Malfoy who offered the solution.

"Look, Potter, if you're going to worry about it so much, just ask them if they want to come. Unless you're too worried that they might say no, and then you'll have lost your faithful sidekicks. Maybe your ego can't handle it."

Harry had sent him an annoyed glare, but had still begrudgingly taken the advice. Which was how the four of them had ended up standing in his flat, all glowering at each other in obvious suspicion, but all apparently determined to go on the search.

Hermione had said, "I think you are being rash. You aren't spending enough time weighing your options, and that is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place. But I won't let you face that danger alone."

Malfoy had interjected, "He isn't alone. I'm going with him."

To which Ron had replied, "Yeah, that isn't much of a comfort, Malfoy. I'm going, too, mate. If only to keep an eye on the snake."

And that had been the end of the discussion.

But they still hadn't known where to start. The knowledge that Runcorn and Yaxley had been involved in something was hardly enough to point them in the right direction. Hannigan had the Ministry almost entirely under his control and anything against him would be far too dangerous. So where did that leave them?

"What about going back to Yaxley Manor?" Ron suggested.

Malfoy shook his head. "They're not stupid enough to go back."

"How would you know?" Ron retorted snidely. "Spend a lot of time hanging out with your Death Eater buddies?"

"They were never convicted of being Death Eaters," Malfoy snapped.

"Yeah, they are model citizens, aren't they?"

"Stop it! Both of you," Hermione interjected before the argument could continue. She sent Malfoy a chilling look and added, "Don't think I won't hex you."

Ron smirked.

Harry rubbed his eyes with one hand as he thought over Ron's suggestion. He doubted Yaxley or Runcorn would have gone back to the scene of the crime, but they didn't really have anywhere else to start.

To Malfoy, he asked, "Do you know where Runcorn lives?"

"No. I don't pal around with him," Malfoy snapped.

"It would be easy enough to figure out," Hermione mused thoughtfully. "We can look him up if necessary."

"He won't go back. Neither of them will. They're not stupid," Malfoy protested again. Ron gave him an incredulous look, but he continued anyway, "They were smart enough to kill McGonagall, frame Snape and Shacklebolt, and get the entire world to think Hannigan is a saint, weren't they?"

Harry flinched at the comment, his mind instantly going back to the moment the light had struck the Headmistress in the chest and she had fallen, eyes wide with pain. He could still see it so clearly, as though he was watching it happen again before his very eyes, the world slowing down all around him.

"Yeah? What's your suggestion, then?" Hermione demanded.

"They have to be in touch with Hannigan, don't they?" Harry said suddenly. Ron and Hermione both looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate on the idea, and it took him a moment to order his thoughts into words. Then he said, "If Hannigan is part of this, a major part of this, they're not going to just stand back and let him do whatever he wants. He wasn't the mastermind behind this, that much was obvious."

"Someone else pulling his strings?"

"Runcorn or Yaxley." Harry said softly. "It has to be one of them."

"That still doesn't help us find either of them," Ron said. "And if we wait until they contact Hannigan, it might be too late for Kingsley."

"Or Snape," Malfoy murmured.

Hermione and Ron both gave him unreadable looks, and Harry turned away. Although he had told his two friends about the memories, about what he had learned about Snape's supposed motivations, the trio had yet to discuss the ramifications of it. Ron had just rolled his eyes in disgust and muttered that the potions Master still wasn't trustworthy, and Hermione had looked somewhat intrigued by the entire situation. But the comments had ended there, and the topic of Snape had been carefully avoided.

This was about saving Kingsley, and nothing else mattered.

"What about your parents?" Hermione asked finally, giving Malfoy a contemplative look. "Would they know anything?"

"Are you slow? How many times do I have to tell you this, Granger? We weren't involved!"

"Don't talk to her like that," Ron hissed.

"That isn't what I meant," Hermione retorted, shaking her head, an angry glare back in place on her face. "But your father was a Death Eater, so he probably did pal around with Yaxley and Runcorn. Did he know anything about them? Anything that could point us in the right direction?"

"You want me to drag my parents into this?" Malfoy asked incredulously, clearly reluctant to put his family in any unnecessary danger.

"We didn't drag them into it, Malfoy," Harry said softly, looking back at his one-time nemesis. "They've already been dragged into this, haven't they? By Jonathon Abbott when he accused your parents of harboring Snape. By Kinglsey when he used your mother as a go-between with Snape. Do you really think Hannigan is going to forget about any of that? Your freedom, your parents' freedom, it is all forfeit if Hannigan succeeds. Do you want that?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Is that a threat?"

"Don't be daft," Hermione said sharply. "It is a warning. A _friendly_ one. We're trying to help each other, remember?"

"Yeah? And that bit of Dark Arts you used on me the other day?" Malfoy asked bitterly. "Was that also just a friendly warning?"

A complete silence met those words, and Harry dropped his gaze. So much had happened since his accidental use of Dark Magic against the blonde wizard. He had been ashamed of his loss of control then, and although the events of the past several days had pushed that feeling of guilt to the back of his mind, it had not managed to lesson it any. The emotion came bursting to the forefront again, clenching tightly around his chest, cutting off his ability to breathe.

"Are you with us or not, Malfoy?" Hermione asked wearily, breaking the tension with her gentle words.

Malfoy looked at her and said coldly, "Fine. I'll talk to my parents. But don't expect them to know anything."

"Don't worry," Ron sneered, "we never expect a Malfoy to know anything."

The bickering started again, but Harry paid little attention to it. His mind was elsewhere, dwelling on less pleasant thoughts. He could feel Hermione's gaze on him, feel her eyes boring into his back, but he determinedly stared in the other direction, refusing to look at her. He did not know what he would see in her eyes – sympathy, recriminations, concern – and he did not want to face any of it.

He knew the questions she would force him to ask himself. Questions he had no answer for, and could not even begin to imagine where to find a response.

Was he in this mess because he had let his determination at catching Snape lead him into trouble? Had he been partially responsible for the mess? He hadn't been thinking clearly then, was he thinking clearly now?

"Potter? Are you coming?"

Harry swallowed uneasily and nodded, and with his own turbulent thoughts swirling in his mind, he followed Malfoy from the flat.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy yanked open the door the moment she heard the footsteps in the hallway. She was half-expecting a force of Aurors to have arrived, intent on dragging her away to Azkaban, but was instead faced by the oddest assortment she could imagine. It was her son, and the Boy Who Lived with his two sidekicks.

Relief washed through her body. Draco had not arrived at Severus' cottage like she had instructed, and she had automatically assumed the worst. But going to anyone for help had been entirely out of the question, and so she had been left on her own in the extravagant Malfoy Manor, terrified for her son's safety.

"You did not follow my instructions, or your father's," Narcissa said coolly as she glanced between the four in front of her.

"No, I did not," Draco agreed quietly. "Mother, we need to find Runcorn and Yaxley."

A fear gripped tightly around her chest. "Why?" she asked sharply, anxiously. "Draco, this is not your concern. I told you…"

"I went to the cottage, Mother, like you instructed," Draco answered calmly, meeting her gaze steadily. "And I found something that could help Professor Snape." He slanted a look at Potter and added, "Potter has agreed to help me. If we can find Runcorn…"

"It is foolish to presume that you could change anything," Narcissa said. She gave her son a long, disappointed stare, before looking over at Potter. "I suggest you three leave. Now."

"And what will you do?" Potter demanded. "Hide here until Abbott drags you to prison? You cannot escape Azkaban under this new rule."

"And what do you presume to do?" Narcissa sneered in response. "Drag my son on some wild-goose chase that will get him killed? Or is this some new trick to find more evidence to incriminate us?"

"I am trying to stop Hannigan. I don't care what happens to you."

Narcissa nearly laughed. "I know," she answered ironically, shaking her head. "Very few people waste time or effort caring about us. But I will _not_ let you use my son."

"Mother, this is my choice," Draco interrupted. "I went to him. I asked Potter for help. I _want_ to do this."

She stared at him, dismayed. When she had discovered that Draco was not at the cottage, she and Lucius had both reacted with the same emotion – fear. Hers had been displayed through a sudden speeding of her heart, a flooding of adrenaline through her veins, the sudden need to find her son and convince herself that he had not come to any harm. But Lucius had reacted differently, with cold anger and an unreadable façade.

He had left a little over an hour ago. She did not know where he had gone. She did not know when he would be back.

"You are my son," Narcissa replied finally, and although she did not finish the sentence, she knew he understood all the hidden implications of her words. He was her son, and she would not ever be able to stand by and watch him put himself in danger. She did not have the strength of courage to do that.

"Mrs. Malfoy, please, just… we don't want anything to happen to Malfoy… Draco… either. We just want to… to fix this," the Granger girl said softly, pleadingly.

"I am an adult, Mother. I am of age. I have every right to do this." Draco paused, gave her an apologetic shrug. "I… I made part of this mess. I have to fix it."

"You are not responsible for every wrong thing that happens," Narcissa argued. Draco might have given Potter the information necessary to find Snape, but it was clear that this plot had been underway for a while, and it was not her son's actions that had caused the catastrophic turn of events.

"Maybe not," Draco argued, "but this one at least I can fix."

"You think you can fix it," Narcissa retorted, "but where is the proof?"

"We know Runcorn and Yaxley are behind this," Potter interjected. "If we can find them, we can bring them in, bring them to justice. Prove that Hannigan is involved as well…"

"This is folly!"

"Who else can we go to?" the redheaded Weasley demanded, speaking up for the first time. "The Ministry is in the hands of the enemy, Diggory is dead, Kingsley is in jail. There is no one else who can do this. No one besides us."

"This is our best chance of saving ourselves. Of saving you and your husband. And your son."

Narcissa expelled a breath, worried but unable to find another option. She was back into a corner by her son's determination, and she knew that everything the other three had said was perfectly true. There was no one else to turn to, and her family could not possibly hope to survive under Hannigan's rule.

"Come with me," she said imperiously, beckoning to the others to follow her. She walked through the hallway, and into the parlor, gesturing for the others to sit. A quick glance around assured her that they were alone, no one to bother them. No one to overhear anything that could be said.

"I don't socialize with Runcorn, I never did. I knew the older Yaxley, I barely know this one at all. I don't see how I can help you."

"Is Father home?"

Narcissa shook her head. "He is not. And I doubt he would have any more to tell you than I do." Lucius had interacted with Runcorn a few times during the Dark Lord's reign, but never socially. Never enough to know any information that might be useful.

"Are you sure?"

She shot the Granger girl a withering look. "Of course I am sure Lucius is not home."

"Where is he?" Draco asked, obviously worried.

She looked at him, debating what answer to give. Admitting that she did not know where he was would only serve to frighten her son even more, and she could not take the chance that it would cause him to act even more rashly. She also was loathe to admit to Potter and his friends that she had did not know the whereabouts of her own husband.

"He's out," she replied. "He will be back. Perhaps you should wait for him." Perhaps he would have more luck convincing their son not to risk his life on such a pointless venture.

But Draco shook his head. "We don't have time, Mother. If Father is not back soon…"

Narcissa concealed a small smile. She could also tell by the way Draco slanted a nervous glance at the door that he did not want to face his Father. Lucius would not be pleased to learn just what his son had done.

"Can you think of anything at all that could help us?" Potter asked again, his tone impatient.

"I told you…" she started.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy," Granger pleaded.

Narcissa licked her lips and frowned. She wasn't lying and she wasn't trying to withhold information in an attempt to foil her son's plans, she simply did not know anything about these men.

"I don't even know what information you are looking for," she said finally. "I have nothing I can tell you."

"We just need to find them," Potter explained. "If you know where they would go…"

She rolled her eyes at his stupidity. "Potter, do you really think that I would know something like that? I have already told you that I never socialized with Runcorn, and I barely knew Yaxley."

"But you might have…"

"No, Potter," she snapped, irritated. "I don't know…" and then she trailed off, lost in thought.

"Mother?" Draco prompted.

"During the first war, Bella and her husband owned an estate in the south of France. It was raided by an Auror – Longbottom, I believe. Most of the possessions within the estate were confiscated by the Ministry, and the estate itself was seized. It was sold in auction."

"To whom?" Draco asked, a little surprised.

"I wanted to keep it in the family," Narcissa replied with a fond smile, "but Lucius disagreed. It was bought by Yaxley. To the best of my knowledge, it was not used during the intervening years. It was certainly empty during the second war. It would have passed from uncle to nephew after Yaxley's death. It is possible…" She trailed off with a shrug.

"Where exactly is it?" Potter asked eagerly.

Narcissa hesitated, her eyes lingering on her son. At this point, there was nothing she could do to stop him. But she was also reluctant to let him go off on his own. The last time he had attempted to do something as dangerous, he had nearly died, and though his life had been saved, he had still ended up serving the Dark Lord.

Draco stared back at her, then said abruptly, "Potter, Weasley, Granger. Scram."

"What?"

"Get out. I'll meet you in the hallway in a moment."

Weasley looked like he was about to argue, but the Granger girl sent him a warning look as she rose to her feet, and he slowly followed. Potter frowned, and opened his mouth to say something, but Draco interrupted.

"I'm not going to run off without you. Use your head, Potter, I am sure you have one. I just need a moment to speak to my mother. In private."

"It could be…"

"A trap, Weasley? If we were setting you up, we would not need to speak privately about it. We would already have the plan in place. Idiot."

"Come on, let's just give them a moment," Granger said firmly, beckoning for the two wizards to follow her. They did, and Narcissa watched until the door was shut tightly behind them. Once she was sure the wards preventing eavesdropping had fallen into place and they could not be overheard, she turned back to her son with a pleading gaze.

"Draco…"

"Mother, you have been arrested once. Snape is in Azkaban and will probably lose his soul soon. You and Father are both so convinced that we are running out of time, and here is a chance to stop it. To save us. How can you ask me not to?"

"I do not stop being your mother just because you grow up, Draco. I do not stop worrying about you no matter how capable you are or how necessary your actions."

Draco gave her a look, and she could see something shifting in his eyes, a sort of realization. "Where is Father?" he asked again.

Narcissa held his gazes for a beat, then said, "I do not know. He left after we discovered that we did not know where you were." She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. She would never claim that she or her husband were innocent, and even Draco had certainly made some less than perfect choices. But their past wrongs would never be forgotten or forgiven by the rest of the society, and she doubted anything her son did would change that.

But Draco had to try, had to at least make an attempt to change, and she understood that, even if she did not like it.

"Any estate once owned by Bella will be dangerous. If Yaxley and Runcorn are there, they will not be your only threats. The place will be filled with Dark Objects and Creatures and the remnants of Dark Magic. Be careful."

"I will, Mother. I promise."

* * *

"Well, well, well… Mr. Malfoy, you are certainly the last person I expected to find in my office."

"Hannigan. Certainly the last person I wanted to have to speak to. I see you've gone up in the world."

Hannigan smiled coldly and gestured for Lucius Malfoy to take a seat. "I've done well. You, on the other hand, seem to be slowly falling from grace. I doubt you have much longer than a few days before the Aurors come for you and your lovely wife. And your son."

"Careful, Hannigan," Malfoy replied, "the higher you rise, the further you'll fall."

"Yes, you've learned that lesson well, haven't you?" Hannigon said sarcastically.

"How did you fall in with Hannigan and Yaxley?" Malfoy sked casually, resting his walking cane against his knee and carefully folding his leather gloves on his lap. "Did they approach you?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Of course you don't," Malfoy sneered. "How do they keep in touch with you? I can't imagine they would leave you alone to make the decisions all by yourself. Someone is pulling your strings."

Hannigan leaned forward, resting his hands on his desk, his eyes darkening with anger. "Your accusations are baseless. And no one believe you anyway. Your name does not carry respect any more, Malfoy."

"You are probably right," Malfoy agreed with a thoughtful nod. "I can't prove it. But no matter, these were not the accusations I wish to have stick to you."

"And what else have you brought with you? How do you possibly hope to tarnish my reputation?"

Malfoy rose to his feet and walked over to the magical window. He knew that, as the office was located in the Ministry and was therefore underground, he was staring at nothing more than an illusion. He stared at it anyway, at the fake sun casting fake light across the room.

"I have a proposition for you," Malfoy said finally.

"I doubt anything you say would interest me."

Malfoy turned, running one hand over his white-blonde hair. "I want amnesty for my family."

Hannigan laughed outright. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms in his lap and tilted his chin up, regarding Malfoy. "My dear Lucius," he drawled, "that will never happen. Your son is a Death Eater and your wife is hardly any better. You may have weaseled your way out of Azkaban before, but you won't manage it this time."

"Oh, and you will have quite the list to send to Azkaban, won't you? Snape, Shacklebolt… impressive."

"Well, I hardly did it all on my own. The rest of the Ministry was kind enough to help."

Malfoy's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "No, you did not do it on your own, did you? You never do anything by yourself. Tell me, did you kill Diggory yourself, Hannigan, or did you have someone else do it for you?"

"Your lies are meaningless. And if you are hoping for a rise from me, I am afraid I will have to disappoint you."

"Will you now?" Malfoy sneered, a thin smile forming on his lips. "We shall see." He gave one last look at the window, then crossed back to the seat in front of the desk and slipped into it with a sigh. "You have learned to cover your tracks better. You did not always do so well in the past."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hannigan asked with a frown.

Malfoy interlaced his fingers and answered softly, smoothly, "Ten years ago, a little hillside town in Greece? People talk, Hannigan. You know that."

Hannigan paled slightly, but Malfoy had to give him credit, he did not lose his calm expression. The poker face was not enough, however, as Malfoy caught sight of the other wizard's fingers tightening into fists, his knucles turning white from his grip.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Hannigan snapped coldly.

"Of course not," Malfoy answered with a sarcastic tone of voice. He waved his hands dismissively for a moment, then said, "Ten years is a long time. Some people must have forgotten." He lowered his eyes to his lap and added, "Of course, some people never forget. And very few ever truly forgive. I wonder… will _they_?"

Hannigan said nothing.

"We all have less than pleasant secrets in our past," Malfoy said casually. "But you… you've set yourself up to be a saint, the savior of the wizarding world. And while people might forgive the secrets of the ordinary man and woman… will they be so quick to forgive you when they realize everything you've said is a lie?"

"That's preposterous," Hannigan said, but his words were quickly fading in their assuredness, and now he was looking decidedly uneasy. "You cannot slander me with such…"

"I cannot," Malfoy agreed readily. "But _they_ can."

Hannigan's mask crumbled completely. "How did you…?"

"Find out?" Malfoy finished when it became clear that Hannigan was too distressed to finish the question. "I told you, Hannigan. People talk."

Hannigan hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "How long have you known?"

"Long enough. I keep information on anyone who might be… helpful… to me in the future. Little did I know just how… helpful… you would be." Malfoy waited for a moment, watching Hannigan with a hawk-like stare. "Do we have a deal?"

"I… no. No one would believe you anyway. Or _them_."

"Runcorn and Yaxley did," Malfoy countered. "That's why they chose you, didn't they?" Hannigan said nothing, and Malfoy nodded slowly. "It was obviously their idea. They just needed someone with enough political standing, enough ambition, and no morals. So they chose you. And as long as you can hold the Ministry in the palm of your hand, they will keep you. But if something were to happen… if you lost your influence… well, you simply would not be of any use to them. Would you?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Did you get cold feet when the Headmistress died? Certainly that was not part of your original plan."

"That was Snape. Snape killed her. Snape did all of this."

Malfoy shrugged. "It does not matter how many times you say it. Repetition will not make it come true." He stared hard at Hannigan for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, he said, "You never had it in you to do something like this. You were far too much of a coward. Now McGonagall is dead. You did not agree to that, but did it really matter? Runcorn and Yaxley were pulling your strings, they were the puppeteers behind this entire charade. And they will just as easily leave you behind if they…"

"Fine."

Malfoy stopped, eyebrows raised. "Do you take the deal?"

"Your wife and son will receive amnesty." Hannigan paused, then said coldly, "You will not." Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but Hannigan pressed forward fiercely, "That is the deal. If you refuse to take it, I will have your family thrown in Azkaban and fed to the Dementors. You may be able to ruin me, but keep in mind, I can ruin you as well."

"If you think you can kill me, and then remove the threat to yourself and go after my wife and son…"

"Don't you trust me?" Hannigan asked mockingly.

Malfoy continued as though he had not heard the interruption. "… I will tell Narcissa the truth about you. And she will use it against you if you target her or Draco."

Hannigan nodded. "I understand."

"We have a deal?"

"Yes. We do."


	25. So Glad You Could Make It

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: While the Golden Trio and Malfoy attempt to capture Runcorn or Yaxley, Andromeda Tonks receives a visit from her sister, and Penelope Clearwater and Ginny reach an understanding.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: So Glad You Could Make It

Andromeda Tonks knew better than most that blood was indeed thicker than water. She could change her surname upon marriage with a Muggleborn, she could cut ties with everyone in her family, she could refuse to acknowledge that there was any bond there to begin with, and yet it would still never be enough. The blood than ran through her veins was Black blood, and there was no escaping it.

Perhaps that is why it did not surprise her when she opened the door to her home, her grandson balanced precariously on one hip, and found herself staring at Narcissa.

Narcissa. She should have been the odd sister out. Both Andromeda and Bellatrix had inherited the dark looks of the Black family, the dark hair and lidded eyes that were at once both stunning and disconcerting to look at. Like all the others in her family, Andromeda had also been endowed with a forceful personality, a lack of patience, and a short temper. Unlike the rest of her family, however, she had certainly not used her attributes to follow Voldemort.

But Narcissa… Narcissa, who had been given fair hair and pale eyes and elf-like looks. Narcissa, who could so easily, quietly, _patiently_ manipulate those around her, who could keep her temper in check and present a meek countenance to the world while secretly plotting her own ascent to power…

Narcissa was unlike the other Blacks as well.

But blood was blood.

And Black blood was Black blood.

"Hello, Cissy," Andromeda said softly. The nickname fell easily from her lips even though she had not used it in ages. She had not even spoken to her sister in such a long time, and yet with Narcissa standing outside her door, the years seemed to fall away and the rest of the world melted into nothing.

"Andie," Narcissa replied with a short jerk of her head. "May I come in?"

Andromeda hesitated. Part of her wanted to curse and yell at her sister. Narcissa had denied her for so long, had turned her back on her and pushed her from the family without so much as a second thought. Andromeda had faded into the background while Narcissa had married well and risen through the social hierarchy until she was well-respected and admired by many. And now that the tables had turned, Narcissa dared to show up at her door?

And yet…

She looked down at the child nestled in her arms. Teddy's eyes, a bright blue – was that even his real shade? It was so hard to tell given how often he changed – stared up at her, uncomprehendingly. He did not know Narcissa, did not know the past, the history that lay between the two sisters. He did not know the stories that Andromeda so clearly remembered. He knew nothing.

And yet, Narcissa was technically his family. His lack of knowledge, his shelter protecting him from the reality of what that family had been like… it did not change the simple truth.

Blood _was_ thicker than water.

And Narcissa was still her sister.

Andromeda pushed the door open further and stepped aside, allowing Narcissa to walk past her into the house.

* * *

Ginny shoved the scrolls at Penelope and turned on her heel, marching out of the room in a huff.

Penelope sighed and glanced in between the patient they had been treating and her boyfriend's sister, feeling both a little annoyed and a little guilty. Shooting an apologetic glance at the wizard lying on the bed, she placed the scrolls of parchments on table near the door and hurried after Ginny.

In the doorway, she paused and looked back. "Sorry, Mr. Thimbledon. This will only take a moment. I will be back as soon as possible."

The wizard stared glumly after her and ran a hand down his arm, which was currently covered in scales. "I'm not going anywhere," he said in a low tone, wincing with pain.

In the hallway, Penny caught sight of Ginny stalked away in the distance, obviously heading towards the lifts. With a groan, the older girl took off running, her heels clicking against the floor. The wizards and witches mingling in the corridor moved quickly out of her way, recognizing that she was a Healer by the color and cut of her uniform and assuming it was some sort of emergency.

She caught up with Ginny and slid into the lift just moments before the doors slid shut, sealing her in the small moving box.

The two witches were alone.

"What do you want?" Ginny snapped. "I thought you'd be happy now that I was gone. You haven't wanted me here since day one."

"Do you want to be here?" Penny shot back, flushed with anger. "Do you _want_ to be a Healer?"

"Of course I do!"

"Because you just contradicted me in front of a patient. You insulted me, you were disrespectful. You were out of line."

The conversation had started out innocently enough. The patient had come in with scales all along the right side of his body and no idea how they had gotten there. Given that the etiology was unknown, Penny had opted not to proceed with any form of removal until they could be absolutely sure there would be no dangerous side-effects.

And that was where the problems had begun.

The patient had had a question, and Penny and Ginny had disagreed over the answer. But somehow the disagreement had escalated, ending with Penny brutally dismissing Ginny as unintelligent, and Ginny retaliating that Penny was arrogant and self-absorbed.

Somehow, the argument had evolved so that it was no longer about the patient at all.

"So I am not allowed to offer an opinion?" Ginny asked sarcastically. "I thought that was the reason I was here."

"You are here to learn," Penny retorted.

"Then teach!"

"I am _trying_."

"Right," Ginny drawled, rolling her eyes in ill-concealed disdain. "You are not trying. You don't want me to be here. You never wanted me to be your shadow, and you hate the fact that…"

"Oh, stop being such a brat," Penny snapped angrily, her temper wearing thin. "You are not the only person unhappy with this arrangement. But, whether you like it or not, I _am_ the Healer you are going to be forced to shadow. So grow up and act like an adult."

"Why should I?" Ginny scoffed. "_You_ aren't practicing what you preach."

The lift reached another floor and the doors slid open. A young wizard dressed in a Healer's robe stepped inside, glancing a little hesitantly between the two witches. As the lift continued its descent, the wizard chewed his bottom lip nervously, able to sense that something was wrong based on the tension that lingered in the air.

Penny stepped closer to Ginny and whispered under her breath, "What are you talking about?"

"You," Ginny snapped, not bothering to keep her voice low. "I'm talking about you! You talk like you are taking the high road, like you haven't done _anything_ wrong. But you treat me like some nuisance that got underfoot, like I am just a waste of your time."

"Maybe you are," Penny retorted, turning sharply away from the younger witch. Her gaze moved to the wizard, a Healer who looked vaguely familiar. The last thing she wanted was to start a screaming match with Ginny while this hapless wizard was trapped in the lift with them. She did not like airing her own private problems in public.

"You didn't want to remove that patient's scales," Ginny accused, her voice shaking a little. It was clear, then, just how much Penny's words had upset her, even if she refused to let it show on her face.

"We don't know how he got them," Penny answered in a voice of forced calm, sparing Ginny a brief look. "Any attempts to remove them before we obtain a proper diagnosis could result in the accidental removal of his arm."

"If we wait," Ginny countered, "the scales could spread."

"We don't know that they are spreading," Penny argued.

"True," Ginny agreed with a short nod, "but we also don't know that they _aren't_ spreading." She paused and drew a breath, slowly exhaling. Her eyes were flashing and her face was flushed a light pink that clashed horribly with her hair.

The wizard Healer looked between the two and then stepped forward quickly, jabbing his finger at the buttons on the side of the lift as though hoping this action would allow them to reach his floor sooner.

"If the scales were caused by a curse, it could be Dark Magic. It would interfere with our own attempts to remove it… There are reasons that we do not just randomly try anything…" Penny said softly, her voice even but devoid of all emotion. She spoke coolly, factually.

"I know that," Ginny hissed. "You cannot possibly think that I am so incompetent…" Here Penny interjected with a snort of disbelief at her words, and Ginny pressed forward, "I am the top of my class. I am _good_ at what I do. Not many students training to be Healers are allowed to participate in this shadowing program. But I was chosen for it. I am _not_ a waste of your time."

"Then why are you suggesting ridiculously incompetent possibilities?"

"Because other types of Dark Magic will seep into his skin and cause damage to his organs. It might be more than skin deep. You told him it was likely only going to require a few correcting spells and a potion, but it could be so much more than that…"

"I _know_!" Penny exploded.

The lift finally reached the floor the wizard had selected, and the doors slid open. With an audible sigh of relief, the man nearly ran from the small confines, disappearing into the crowd of Healers, Trainees, patients, and family members who bustled about in the hallway.

"So you lied to your patient?" Ginny asked viciously.

A silence fell over those near to the lift, and several sets of accusatory eyes turned towards Penny. She swallowed a little anxiously, not wanting to have this particular conversation around patients. But Ginny had asked the question, and as several others filed into the lift with curious looks towards the two feuding witches, Penny wasn't sure she could _not_ answer the question.

"I did not lie, per se," Penny snapped. The lift was crowded, and Penny was shoved up against the back wall, while Ginny was pressed into the opposite corner. Between the two of them was an older woman who was sprouting horns, two Healers and a Trainee, a young boy speaking rapidly in gibberish, an a man who kept pulling coins out of his ears and dropping them with a clang on the floor.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't," she muttered.

"I am going to kill my sister!" the wizard with coins protruding from his ears snapped to no one in particular as he scattered yet another handful of spare change across the ground. "I bet she thought the curse was _funny_! Well, we will see if she still finds it funny when the coins are coming out of her ears!"

"Gooeyduck porter cribble se noodle," the little boy offered, giving the older man a smile.

The wizard glared at the boy, clearly not comforted by the gibberish words.

One of the Healers intervened, placing a hand on the boy's arm. "Come on, Jacob. We're almost at the right floor, and we'll get you sorted. Then your Mum can come get you."

"Glibif tor leap."

"Uh… alright, Jacob."

The doors opened, and the Healer, the Trainee, and the little boy all filed from the lift.

Penny moved closer to Ginny. "I saw no reason to worry our patient with the possibilities. We don't know how bad it is, so why tell him that it could be that bad?" Penny argued, flinching slightly at the harsh sound of several more coins clattering on the floor. "And you still had no right to contradict me."

"Of course I did," Ginny replied.

"Not in front of the patient."

"The patient has a right to know…"

"Know what exactly? We _don't_ know anything."

They reached another floor, and the remaining wizard and Healer left, with a final handful of coins tossed onto the floor. The lift switched directions at that point, and since Ginny made no move to get off, Penny knew they were in for another argument.

The doors slid shut.

"You don't like me," Ginny said as soon as they were alone again. "I get it. You're just as much of a pigheaded prick as Percy. You make a good match."

It took all of Penny's willpower not to reach for her wand and hex the redhead. Instead, she drew a shaky breath and answered, "You hurt him, too, Ginny. The problems in your family… they weren't all his fault."

Ginny sneered, her lips drawing back to reveal clenched teeth. "Really?"

"He was different. And you just couldn't take that, could you? He didn't fit into your ideas of what a Weasley should be like, and you kept trying to re-shape him, to force him into your image of what was right."

"He left us!" Ginny spat. "He insulted Harry and Dumbledore and Dad… He walked out on his own family." She blinked, shook her head and forced away the tears that were threatening to fall. "We were at war and he chose the Ministry over us."

'What reason did you give him to choose you?" Penny asked. "You mocked him at every turn. Or you sat back as Fred and George mocked him…"

'They were just pranks! And _don't_ talk about Fred."

A silence fell between them, and Penny had far too much compassion to try to bring up anything about Fred again. Despite the problems that had existed between the twins and Percy, she knew that Percy certainly never wanted anything to happen to either of them. And she could only assume that the twins had returned the sentiment.

"You treat me like… like Percy did," Ginny said hoarsely. "After he left. He just… it was like he didn't even care anymore. Like I wasn't worth it. He didn't send any letters… not even after Dad got bit by the snake or Ron and I nearly got killed by Death Eaters at the Ministry or even at Dumbledore's funeral. He didn't… care."

Penny chewed her bottom lip. "Percy did not handle all of it that well," she agreed reluctantly. She couldn't argue the point, because Percy had been responsible for some of the problems. "But neither did any of you. And trust me, Percy did care. More than you know. Just because he didn't always take your side…"

"I never saw it, then," Ginny muttered. "If he really cared… he didn't show it." She leaned back against the wall of the lift and glanced around, her eyes going everywhere besides Penny's face. "Besides, refusing to believe us about something as big as… as Voldemort… that's more than just a little argument."

"Being family doesn't necessarily mean that you all like each other and trust each other implicitly," Penny argued. "Maybe it should, but it just doesn't. Trust me, I know."

"He didn't… he didn't have to like us. But he… he _was_ supposed to love us. That is part of what it means to be family. And it didn't… it didn't always feel like it. He really hurt me."

"Yeah," Penny agreed. "You really hurt him, too. But… have you tried talking to him? I mean… _actually_ talking?"

A silence fell between them.

Ginny rubbed at her eyes with one hand. "I shouldn't have contradicted you quite so… disrespectfully… in front of a patient," she muttered finally. As an afterthought, she added, "Even if everything I said was true."

Penny rolled her eyes in exasperation, but replied, "No, you shouldn't have. But I guess I could have been nicer to you."

The lift finally stopped and the doors slid open. Penny and Ginny stepped out and walked quickly through the hallway.

"So… how do we figure out the etiology of the scales?" Ginny asked tentatively.

Penny gave a weary shrug. "Well, usually you can just ask the patient, and they'll remember if they've been cursed. Since our patient doesn't remember, that makes things a bit more complicated…" And she launched into an explanation of the appropriate diagnostic techniques while Ginny occasionally interrupted with questions and comments.

* * *

"Reminds me of the evil stepmother's castle in Snow White."

"Huh?"

Hermione gave a huff of impatience and shook her head at Ron. "Never mind," she said, not wanting to spend the unnecessary time to tell Ron about Muggle fairytales. Instead, she switched her gaze back to the estate in front of them.

It was a large manor nestled in between hills. The land around it was boarded by a heavy iron gate, and a winding path lead towards the distant door. The manor itself had several turrets outlined against the sky, wings that jutted off in all directions. But though the place might have once looked impressive, it had long since fallen into disrepair.

"I know what you mean," Harry murmured to Hermione. "A little too clichéd, I think."

She bit back a smile. It was true – everything about the entire situation reminded her of some type of classic story told so many times it had become overused and worn.

Well… not everything. She looked over at Malfoy, considering him for a moment. She truly did not understand him, but perhaps it was because she had never made much of an attempt. He was a spoiled brat, a pureblooded Slytherin who had expected to have the world in the palm of his hand, and when it had all been ripped away, he had reverted back to a petty, petulant child.

Except… except that now he was risking his life to help them. She harbored no disillusioned beliefs about his true motive, he was trying to protect himself and his family. But could it also be possible that he was trying to help the rest of the world as well?

"Do we have a plan?" Ron asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Harry shrugged. He had not really thought through their actions, and now that they found themselves on the outskirts of the estate, he realized he had no idea how to proceed. His usual pattern of throwing caution to the wind would not work, not when his own reckless behavior had nearly gotten him killed before. But what else were they to do besides rush in with their wands out?

"Mate?" Ron prompted uneasily. "Maybe we should rethink this…"

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," Malfoy sneered. "Sure you were sorted into the right House, Weasley?"

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione sent him a warning look and he lapsed into a sullen silence.

"You sure Runcorn and Yaxley are in there?" Hermione asked, looking sharply at Malfoy while patting her boyfriend on the arm in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"It is our best bet," Malfoy defended himself. "What other option do we have?"

"It doesn't look inhabited," Harry remarked, turning jade green eyes back to the manor.

"Well, I doubt Runcorn and Yaxley want to advertise their presences," Malfoy countered. "If you are right about them, then they are only here hiding until Hannigan can get a handle on the Ministry. After Shacklebolt's trial, and after Snape is fed to the Dementors, they can come out and…"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sudden eruption of smoke that burst from the gate before them. It was heavy and black, smelled like rusted metal and sour eggs, and filled the air so densely that the four would-be attackers were unable to see each other.

Hermione snapped her eyes shut instantly and groped for her wand. The smoke stung as she inhaled it, and she tried to keep from breathing. After a moment, she was able to pull her wand out and mutter a few incantations.

The smoke faded.

"What _was_ that?" Ron asked.

"Something to keep out unwanted intruders," Malfoy suggested, rubbing the smoke out of his eyes.

"Seems pretty harmless," Ron argued. "Shouldn't traps be a little more difficult to overcome?"

"Harry!"

Hermione's horrified shout was enough to catch the other's attention, and both Ron and Malfoy turned towards the Boy Who Lived. He had fallen to his knees, his green eyes turning jet black, and was gasping for breath.

Hermione and Ron both dropped to his side. Hermione was speaking rapidly, her voice taking on the same high-pitched squeal that appeared any time she was truly panicked.

"It must be some result of having inhaled the smoke. But why is it affecting him and not us? Do you think it will answer to simple healing spells? Maybe I can suck the smoke out of his lungs? Except that that might also suck out all the oxygen and then he'll die…"

Harry listened to her words with the vague beginnings of fear. His vision was blurring, small black dots creeping in all the edges of his eyes, and he wondered how long it would be until he lost consciousness. He'd faced death enough times that somehow these situations only managed to leave him with a detached sense of unease now, and not the usual full-blown terror that afflicts a person on the edge of losing their life.

No, it was the threats to others, to the ones he cared about, that sent him into wild panic.

He turned worried eyes towards Hermione and wondered how he was going to save the world and Kingsley if he ended up dying before getting to Runcorn or Yaxley.

"Try finite incantatem."

Hermione blinked in surprise at Ron's suggestion, privately doubting that something that simple would work. But having no other ideas at the moment, she pointed her wand at Harry's throat and said in as firm a voice as she could muster, "Finite incantatem!"

And Harry stopped choking.

"Thanks, mate," Harry gasped, rising unsteadily to his feet as he gulped as much oxygen as possible.

"That was weird," Hermione said as she too rose to her feet. "Why would it only harm Harry?"

"Because it was a direct attack on him," Malfoy replied. While Ron and Hermione had been worried over Harry, he had moved closer to the iron gate and was studying it carefully, his wand moving through the air around him.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"The magic was sent towards you," Malfoy replied. "The Dark Arts… they leave a trail. It lingers in the air. This was a directed attack…" he lifted his gaze towards the manor, "by someone from within."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Malfoy, tempted to ask him how he knew about the lingering effects of the Dark Arts. But he was a Slytherin and a favorite of Snape's, so she figured it wasn't even worth it to ask.

"If someone from inside directed it," Harry said softly, "that means…" He trailed off with a frown.

"Yeah," Malfoy agreed. "They know we're here."

"Well, so much for subtlety," Ron commented. "And so much for a surprise attack."

"Do we just walk in?" Hermione questioned. "They haven't come out to us…"

"Maybe they ran," Ron suggested. "Maybe they saw we were here and fled."

"No," Harry replied. "They're too arrogant. Too confident. They aren't going to run because they don't think they can be beaten." And although he would not have ever admitted this aloud, he knew they had every reason to be cocky. After all, they hadn't been caught yet, had they?

"So what? We just walk in?" Ron demanded.

"I'm not sure walking in will be all that easy," Malfoy answered. "My mum thinks that the place will be filled with Dark magic. Aunt Bella was…"

"We know," Harry said sharply, not wanting to think about Bellatrix Lestrange. He knew exactly what she was and what she had been capable of, and he did not need reminders of it.

"Then what do we do?" Ron pressed. "Because standing out here in the open is just stupid."

There was no arguing that point. They were at a disadvantage where they were, and standing around waiting for the next attack was not smart. But neither was walking directly into the lion's den.

"What choice do we have?" Hermione said with a resigned sigh.

"You could not come," Harry answered automatically, immediately.

But Hermione just rolled her eyes. "We've always have chances to walk away from you, Harry. We never took them. When are you going to stop expecting us to change our minds?"

"Okay…" Harry sighed and lifted his wand, gripping it tightly in his hand. "Let's go in."

It felt like a dangerous, probably incredibly stupid idea. But Hermione and Ron followed him as he walked towards the gate, and Malfoy reluctantly stepped aside and allowed them to push open the iron entrance. Then, as a group, the four of them stepped through the fence and onto the manor's grounds.

* * *

Author's note: I know I've dragged out this confrontation with Runcorn and Yaxley forever, and also haven't visited Snape in a while. But the next couple chapters should fix that…


	26. Confrontations

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: As one confrontation between Light and Dark comes to a violent end, another one begins in a blaze of noise and commotion.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: Confrontations

They walked into the manor silently, each tightly grasping their wands. The silence was deafening in its intensity, and a sense of unease hung over them like a heavy cloud or fog, muting everything around and casting the world into a haze.

Harry could practically hear his own heart beating, the heaving thud pounding rhythmically against his rib cage. Hermione continued to wave her wand, muttering under her breath as she cast protection spell after protection spell. Harry knew she was waiting for a surprise attack, for an ambush of some kind. But they made it across the grounds and through the main set of double doors without encountering anything.

No attacks.

Just… silence.

Stillness.

Emptiness.

But they were here. Somewhere within this manor, Runcorn and Yaxley were lying wait, prepared to do anything necessary to end the threat to their plans.

Harry paused at the doors, trailing his hand softly across the smooth wood. It was damp to the touch, despite the heat of summers in France. The stone beneath his feet was cold as well, the cold seeping into his boots. He tilted his head back and looked up towards the turrets rising into the sky.

"Harry? You alright, mate?"

He turned sharply and looked over at Ron. "Yeah," he muttered. "Let's go."

And he placed his hand on the door handle and pushed it open. As he expected, it wasn't locked, and the door swung inwards, revealing a dark hallway stretching back into the house. They stepped through, and Harry shut the door behind him, plunging them all into darkness.

"Lumos," Malfoy whispered, and a bright light spread out from his wand, illuminating the corridor. The floor was carpeted in a plush green rug that was worn in several places. The walls were lined with portraits, most of whom were sleeping. The wallpaper was faded and streaked with signs of moisture, and the air was filled with dust motes, tiny specks suspended in midair, caught in the gleam of Malfoy's light.

"This place really hasn't been taken care of," Hermione said with a faintly disapproving tone.

"Not the time to comment on housekeeping," Ron retorted, rolling his eyes at her. Hermione jabbed him in the side and he moaned in response.

"Quiet," Malfoy hissed. "I hear something."

They froze, all listening, but Harry could hear nothing but the sound of their own breathing. He opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy shot him a warning glare, and Harry bit his tongue, waiting. A moment later, he heard the same noise, the faint slithering of something in the walls.

"Snake?" Ron whispered, looking briefly at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "If it is, it isn't talking," he murmured under his breath. He couldn't hear any voices, although he knew that not all snakes spoke. Particularly not if they were trying to sneak up on their prey.

"Where are they?" Hermione asked softly. "Why haven't they attacked yet?"

"Maybe they're waiting for something," Ron suggested.

"Or maybe they aren't going to attack us at all," Malfoy countered. "My mother said there are Dark Creatures and the remnants of Dark Magic in this place. Those might be enough to kill us even without Runcorn and Yaxley attacking us."

"But they are here," Harry said, glancing around. "Somewhere."

Something moved at the end of the hallway, travelling with the same slithering noise. Hermione drew her wand up to shoulder height, holding it out in front of her in defense. Harry squinted into the gloom, but could see nothing.

Then it moved.

The outline grew closer at an alarming rate, and the thing managed to travel the entire length of the hallway before Harry could fully comprehend what was happening. It drew up before them, half-hidden by shadows, and Hermione jabbed her wand forward in a violent manner. The hall burst into color as a burst of red light left her wand, and the thing fell backwards with a eerie howl.

It didn't take long for it to attack again, however, and this time it drew fully into the light. It had a long head, two heavily-lidded eyes underneath a row of heavy scales. The body, sinewy and snakelike, ended in a sharp tail that flipped around behind it as it moved. It had two forelegs with sharp claws, but no hind legs.

The powerful tail lashed, striking Ron across the chest, and the redhead crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. At the same time, the claws lashed out towards Hermione, and the jaws snapped at Malfoy. Hermione just barely jumped out of the way, stumbling back against the wall, and Malfoy ducked underneath the head. Harry flicked his wand through the air with a hoarse shout, "Stupefy!"

The creature dodged the attack and turned back. From the floor, Ron swished and flicked his wand and cried, "Wingardium leviosa." Jabbing his wand towards the ceiling, he sent the creature spinning into the air and crashing heavily against the ceiling.

It fell to the floor, momentarily stunned, and Harry sent another stunner. This one connected with the creature, and it went limp on the carpet.

Ron crawled back to his feet and looked quickly at Hermione. "Are you alright?"

She gave a wan smile. "Fine."

"What is that thing?" Harry questioned, looking first at the snake-like animal, and then glancing between Hermione and Malfoy. They both shrugged, obviously having never seen that type of creature before, and Harry looked down the hallway again, wondering what else was lying in wait for them.

"Come on," he said, and the four of them continued walking.

They reached the end of the hallway, and found a staircase that spiraled upwards. Slowly, cautiously, Harry began to climb the stairs. As he walked, he could not help but think back to his last confrontation with Runcorn and Yaxley.

Headmistress McGonagall had died. That flash of green light would be forever etched into his mind, a reminder of what he had been unable to prevent. People had died, people always died in a war. But somehow that death had seemed so much more real, so much more vivid, than all the others.

He tried not to think about the memories he had seen, about Snape truly being on the right side. He tried not to think about the fact that Snape had loved his mother, that the potions Master had devoted his life to her memory. He tried not to think about any of it, but the memories wouldn't stay locked behind his mental walls. They leaked out, seeping through the cracks, distracting him.

He blinked and refocused on the staircase.

And then the stairs gave way beneath him.

He fell, plummeting through space towards the ground below. Pieces of wood, jagged at the edges and lined with a thin layer or rot and mold, fell all around him. As the floor slammed into him, knocking the wind from his body, he rolled over and groaned, flopping against the person next to him.

A sharp, jarring pain shot through his arm as he tried to sit up, but he ignored it and looked up at the ceiling far above. Then he glanced to his side and saw Ron slowly crawling to his hands and knees.

"Where are Hermione and the snake?"

Harry felt his stomach sink at Ron's question. He looked around quickly, but it did not take more than just a simple glance to see that he and Ron were alone. Which meant that Hermione and Malfoy were still on the staircase, by themselves.

Malfoy was on their side, Harry thought to himself, and Hermione could take care of herself. There was nothing to worry about. Right?

"We need to find a way back to them," Ron said, standing slowly.

Harry followed suit. "Lumos," he muttered, and light streamed from his wand. The room was circular, of moderate size, and had a single door. Harry looked up again. "Hermione?" he called. "Can you hear me?"

There was no answer from above.

Ron rubbed the back of his head. "How far did we fall?" he asked wearily.

On a whim, Harry sent a burst of red sparks into the air. They travelled upwards, but then collided against something invisible and dispersed, spreading out harmlessly through the air.

"It isn't how far we fell," Harry answered grimly. "There is a shield of some kind in between us and the staircase." He frowned thoughtfully, trying to determine the implications of that statement. It most likely trapped both magic and sound within, meaning that unless they found another way out of the room, they would be trapped here with no escape.

He glanced at the door.

And at just that moment, it swung open.

Without thinking, Harry waved his wand and muttered the disarming spell, but it was blocked easily by the man who emerged into the room.

"Good reflexes," Runcorn sneered, "but hardly good enough. And so we meet again, Potter." His eyes swept back and forth over the two wizards before him, a calculating gleam creeping into his expression. "I must say, I am most impressed by your deductive abilities, I did not think you would find us here." Then he smirked, and added, "But no matter. As usual, your Gryffindor foolishness has lead you to race directly into a trap. You will not escape me this time."

In unison, Harry and Ron sent jinxes towards Runcorn, but he deftly blocked both of them. In return, he sent one of his own, jabbing his wand downwards in a sharp gesture. The curse was silent, so Harry had no idea what had been used against him, but it was powerful enough to throw him backwards and off his feet even though he had lifted a shield to deflect it.

He hit the ground hard, the breath leaving his body once more in a sudden rush. Again, he felt the sharp pain in his arm, but it was not too intense, and he continued to ignore it. His gaze fixed instead on Runcorn, and he felt a fury rise within him.

"Murderer!" Harry snarled, his face suffused with blood. He was back on his feet in an instant, ready to fight. "Traitor!"

"Traitor?" Runcorn repeated in a mocking voice. "To whom do you think I owe my loyalty? Certainly not your precious Headmistress." His gaze moved to Ron, and he added, "It is you who are the traitor, Potter, fraternizing with filth like that."

"Ron is a million times better than you will ever be!" Harry retorted, and beside him, Ron flushed a bright pink that clashed with his hair.

"His family is nothing but dirt," Runcorn answered, goading the two younger wizards. "Impoverished, good-for-nothing, blood-traitors. You disappoint me, Potter. I thought you had better taste in friends."

"I see people for what they really are," Harry answered furiously. "I am not blinded by your pureblood prejudice!"

"No," Runcorn shot back, "you are blinded by your own prejudices. What fool walks into a situation he knows is a trap? Only a Gryffindor too stupid to see the truth that lies before him. You were better off staying away from us."

"You murdered McGonagall and framed Kinglsey for a crime he did not commit," Ron interjected then, eyes blazing angrily at the insults that had been thrown upon his family. "Do you really think you can get away with it?"

"I already did," Runcorn sneered, and launched another attack on Harry.

While Harry countered the blow and retaliated with a curse of his own, Ron sent several jinxes at Runcorn. The combined attack was enough to temporarily unnerve the Dark wizard, and he backed away from them, his expression twisted in anger and unease.

Ron pressed the advantage, but Runcorn regained his footing and hissed, "Sedere incendio!" Almost immediately, the air around them grew hot, and a heavy smoke floated above their heads. Harry's eyes began to sting, and his breath came in short gasps.

Ron fell to his knees, unable to stand.

There was no flame, no fire, but the heat was oppressive, and through watery tears, Harry could barely make out Runcorn laughing cruelly, his face twisted in exhilarated triumph.

He began to speak again, his words echoing throughout the room.

"I've waited a long time for this, Potter. If you had just stayed out of the way, we wouldn't have bothered with you. I just wanted Snape and the Malfoys, but you and Shacklebolt had to get involved. You let your bloated sense of confidence lead you where you did not belong!"

He sounded almost deranged, Harry thought. Not quite as insane as Bellatrix, but still…

The Boy Who Lived waved his wand again, trying in vain to clear the smoke. Another rush of spells flew through the air as the battled turned dangerous, vicious, deadly.

Runcorn continued talking. "I saw Snape. I saw him during the final battle, saw how he cast protection shields around the members of the Order. He stayed in the shadows, and the fools never saw him, never realized that he was helping their misguided cause! But he did help, and he'll pay for that now. I'll watch him suffer, I'll laugh as the Dementor's suck the life out of him, stripping away his soul. Just wait and see, Potter. He'll get what's coming to him, and so will Narcissa Malfoy! Did she really think she could get away with lying to the Dark Lord? She brought about his fall, but she'll suffer as well. She will indeed."

More curses, more defensive measures. Ron was back on his feet, joining in as well, but Runcorn still held his own.

Harry blinked rapidly, barely able to comprehend what Runcorn had been saying. His words were spoken quickly, pushed together with all the cadence of a madman. But the truth was there, underneath the hatred and bigotry. The truth that Harry did not really want to confront.

Snape was on their side.

His anger grew, but he did not let it consume him. Instead, he twisted sharply, his mind focusing on the one spell that could channel his hatred.

"Sectumsempra!"

The gash appeared across Runcorn's chest, and surprised filled the wizard's face as he stumbled backwards. The wound was not deep enough to kill, but it was painful enough to momentarily disable him, and Harry sent another quick spell, stunning the enemy.

Then he grabbed Ron and yanked him from the room.

They still had to find Hermione.

* * *

Hermione stared at the broken staircase before her, horror etched onto her features. Malfoy had grabbed her arm moments before, hauling her backwards and away from the rotten wood. That action had saved her from falling through into the space below, but Harry and Ron had still disappeared, and she could not see them anywhere.

"There's something down there," Malfoy said after a moment of peering through the gloom. "A shield of some type. It is preventing us from getting to the other two. We're going to need to find a different way."

Hermione nodded uncertainly, the rational part of her brain taking over as she analyzed the situation and forced herself to keep the panic at bay.

"It looks like some sort of basement down there." She looked behind her, down the staircase. "Let's retrace our steps, back the way we came. Maybe there is another staircase somewhere, one that leads down."

Malfoy followed her lead down the stairs, but when they reached the bottom floor once more, both were dismayed to find that there was nothing in the dark to indicate another set of stairs anywhere.

"There were some doors further back," Malfoy offered finally. "We could try those."

Hermione grimaced. Opening random doors in a Dark Manor seemed like a very bad idea, but what other choice did they have? She shrugged half-heartedly, and the two walked through the dark towards the first door.

Malfoy placed his hand on the handle, gave Hermione one quick look, then yanked the door open.

Almost immediately, the curling vines of some strange plant surged towards them. It was dark green, threaded through with dark blue lines. It curled tightly around Malfoy's arms, pulling him forward, towards the room beyond. The more he struggled, the more tightly it wound itself around him, constricting his movements, cutting off his attempts at escape.

Praying that it was some kind of Devil's Snare, Hermione sent a burst of fire towards the plant. To her relief, it drew back, releasing Malfoy, and the Slytherin quickly slammed the door shut, then fell to his knees, gasping.

"Thanks," he muttered finally.

Hermione shrugged again, uncomfortable with his display of gratitude. Still, she had just saved him…

The next door they came to, she decided to open. Malfoy stood back, wand at the ready, and Hermione pulled the door slowly towards her, half-expecting another plant to jump out at them.

Instead, it was just an empty room, a parlor of some type. Malfoy extended his wand, further illuminating the room, and as the shadows receded, Hermione found she could see several bookshelves lined against the wall, a plush carpet along the floor, and several armchairs of varying styles and colors.

It was not a parlor, she reflected, but a library.

Malfoy slammed the door shut and muttered, "That was anticlimactic."

"Still more rooms to look in," Hermione countered, and they moved on to the next door.

Hermione opened that one as well, and froze. The air was cold, so cold, and something was moving towards her. It rustled, floating over the ground, and she heard the echoes of screams in her mind. She saw Harry, his limp body held tightly in Hagrid's arms as the half-Giant sobbed uncontrollably, she heard Ron yelling at them as he stormed out of the tent and into the night…

Something was pulling her downwards, forcing her to forget anything good that had ever happened…

She couldn't fight it, even though a small voice in her head told her it had to be a Dementor, and all she needed to do was cast a single, simple spell…

But the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her to the very core…

Voldemort was uttering a high pitched laugh as he cornered her and Harry in Bathilda Bagshot's rundown house… Fear and terror rushed through her, freezing her blood, filling her with despair…

"_Granger!"_

She blinked and opened her eyes. The cold was gone, and Malfoy stood over her, shaking her by the shoulders, his pale face filled with what looked like actual concern. She was sprawled across the floor, half-lying down, half-propped against the wall.

"It was just a Dementor," Malfoy said finally. "It's gone." He turned and nodded towards the room, and she noticed that he had shut the door as well, effectively blocking off the devastating effects of the foul creature.

Hermione inhaled sharply and rose unsteadily to her feet. She had no idea why she had reacted so strongly, but for some reason she had not been able to find the strength to fight off the thing. At least she had not been alone.

"Thanks," she muttered, blushing slightly.

They turned towards the next door, but it burst open before they could approach it, and Harry and Ron scrambled into the hallway.

All four froze when they saw each other.

The Ron strode forward and hugged Hermione tightly, wrapping his arms around her still shaking figure. She nearly collapsed into his arms, and that alarmed Ron more than anything else. He drew back, a question in his eyes.

"I'm okay," Hermione murmured. "Just a little shaken up by a Dementor. Malfoy got rid of it."

There was a tense silence, then Ron said to Malfoy, "Thanks."

Another tense silence, then Malfoy replied, "Your welcome."

A third tense silence, then Harry said, "I stunned Runcorn. He's downstairs, in the basement. We don't need to worry about Yaxley, we only need one of them to prove Kingsley's innocence." As an afterthought, he added begrudgingly, "And Snape's innocence as well."

"Then let's get him and get out of here," Malfoy suggested anxiously.

No one wanted to stay in that place any longer than necessary.

* * *

Hannigan paced back and forth across the floor of his office. Runcorn was supposed to have checked in with him by now, to discuss the next matter in their plan. He had yet to hear from the other wizard, and Yaxley had been impossible to reach.

He was feeling worried, uneasy. The deal with Lucius Malfoy weighed heavily on him, and he had no idea how he would explain it to his other two co-conspirators. They would not be happy, particularly since Narcissa had been their target all along. But what else could he do? Malfoy had not been lying about his knowledge, or his willingness to blackmail anyone who might be useful to him, and Hannigan could not take the chance that this become public.

Maybe he could hold them off, he mused silently. Promise them Narcissa Malfoy eventually. After all, once he had gained enough popularity among the public, he wouldn't need Runcorn and Yaxley anymore. They thought they were pulling his strings, and he'd let them think that. But eventually…

Eventually, he could get rid of them as well.

He sighed. Subterfuge was easy enough on a small scale, but the risks he was taking now left him ill at ease. Not for the first time, he wished this was already over.

He thought, briefly, about Harry Potter. He had never wanted any harm to come to the Boy Who Lived. He was too valuable a symbol to be so easily destroyed, and his death would not help anyone. When they had made the plan, Runcorn and Yaxley had agreed that only Snape and the Malfoys would be targeted.

But now McGonagall was dead. And who knew what would happen to Potter?

So what now?

Shacklebolt was an unfortunate victim of circumstance, necessary collateral damage in the takeover. It was a pity, but it was too late to undo that anyway.

Still…

The entire situation left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he could not help but wonder just how honest his two compatriots had been with him. Had they known, even from the beginning, that this would happen?

He had no doubt that they would have lied to him if they felt it would serve their purpose.

He clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails biting into his palms, his knuckles turning white in anger.

But, he reminded himself, he could get rid of them eventually. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

He chewed his lip. Runcorn still hadn't contacted him.

He couldn't wait any longer. He had to move on to the next phase, had to strike while the iron was still hot, while the wizarding world still cried out for revenge.

He summoned his assistant.

The man, short and thin, with a narrow face and a shifty smirk, appeared almost instantaneously, sliding in through the door and shutting it behind him. "Yes, sir?" he asked.

"Gather the Wizongamot. Begin the trial of Kingsley Shacklebolt," he ordered. "I want him convicted of treason within twenty-four hours."

"Consider it done," the assistant answered with a nod of his head.

* * *

The court room was filled. Every single seat was taken, and the back was crowded as well, standing room only for those unlucky enough to miss out on seats. The air was filled with noise, with shouting and savage cries, with anger nearly palpable in its intensity. There were flashes as cameras snapped shots of the room, catching scenes and tableaus for the newspaper.

Everyone was waiting, watching.

Hannigan stood the side, his eyes scanning the place with grim satisfaction. The Wizengamot had assembled, and they all sat in their raised seats, silent and calm, but their eyes reflected coldhearted vengeance.

And then a hush fell over the room as the far doors swung open and two Dementors entered, carrying a weary-looking Kingsley between them. He stumbled over his own feet as they dragged him to the accused's chair and forced him to sit. The metal chains curled around his wrists, magically locking him in place.

The crowd started to scream.

He did not look at them, but stared straight ahead, towards the Wizengamot. They were the ones who would decide his fate.

Then he looked past them, to Hannigan. Their eyes met, one set filled with loathing, the other with unease and vague regrets.

And then the trial began.


	27. Enter the Furies

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: And so we finally return to Snape and Kingsley in this chapter. And, unfortunately, things aren't looking too great for either of them.

Summary: It was over, but it had been over since before it had even begun. They had already lost.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: Enter the Furies

There was no sense of time in this place, not anymore. Not now that the Dementors had drained away the last vestiges of sanity, leaving behind a muddled mess of despair. The cold stone walls, dripping with moisture, covered in mold and mildew, reflected the psyches of the trapped prisoners, those forced to part with anything good that had ever happened in their lives.

Wizards and witches went insane here.

Snape closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. The air was cold, although he had no way of knowing if that was a natural effect of being on an island in the middle of the turbulent ocean, or if it was due to the presence of the Dementors.

He could hear their raspy breaths outside his cell door.

Sometimes Lily sat with him. It wasn't the stone, but rather a figment of his imagination. He had not been able to bring himself to use the stone again, to pull her back from the peaceful rest of the dead. But her memory lingered, floating around him, wrapping him in warmth.

Sometimes he was all alone, and her absence only made the hours worse. Or where they merely minutes? He had no idea, no sense of anything. It could have been years since he had been thrown into this place, or it could have been mere seconds.

Time meant nothing.

He was not insane. The Dementors had taken much from him, but not enough to drive him over the edge.

Still…

It was close. He was teetering on the brink, only moments away from plunging over the cliff towards the raging rapids of lunacy far below.

He rose from his cot, his limbs stiff and achy. Something was pressing against his chest, weighing him down, and though he tried to fight it, he could not. His vision blurred, exhaustion seeped into his bones.

It was cold, so cold.

Sometimes he heard the echoing taunts of his enemies. James Potter and Sirius Black, laughing callously, mockingly, calling him a coward. Bellatrix, declaring her suspicions, goading him with her blatant cruelty. His father, filled with indifference towards his only son. And the Dark Lord…

The high-pitched cackle, the snake-like eyes, the flash of green light as the end came rushing towards the only person he had ever truly loved…

He leaned against the wall. Moisture dampened his clothing, left him chilled. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ice that had long since entered his body, flooding his veins, wrapping around his heart.

Sometimes, he thought of Narcissa and Draco, and even less often, he thought of Lucius. Their faces passed before his eyes, blending and out of each other, vague and disconnected from reality. He did not know how they fared, if the wizarding world had come crashing down on them as well. He thought it was only a matter of time… Even Lucius' smooth tongue and Narcissa's courage could not protect them from Hannigan's version of justice.

Sometimes the room was simply silent. Sometimes there seemed to be nothing there but emptiness and the lonely rise and fall of dust motes suspended in the stale air. It was then, in those moments, that Snape was sane enough to think about the world and wonder what would happen to it now.

* * *

Ginny leaned against the doorframe and stared at her brother, watching him quietly. He was bent over, his chin rested on his hands, his elbows propped up against this knees. The sofa sagged slightly under his thin frame, and beneath his mop of red hair, his face wore a worried expression.

"Kingsley's trial is starting," she said finally, breaking the silence.

His gaze snapped up, surprise briefly flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded slowly and replied with a simple, "I know." He looked away again and gave a slow sigh, and his two-word answer seemed to hover in the air between them.

Talking with Percy had never been easy. Even before the rift, he had been so different, so aloof. The awkward tension only served to heighten Ginny's awareness of the fact, and she bit her bottom lip, casting him a worried look.

"Dad went to the courtroom." Ginny took a few more steps into the room, her eyes shining with frustration for the entire situation. Hadn't they already fought a war, hadn't they already lost enough? Why did these battles need to continue?

Percy ran a hand through his hair. "Good. I don't know how much time Father thinks he has bought with this ruse, but… I _am_ glad that they are trying to prevent such a serious miscarriage of justice."

Ginny snorted. "It's more than just that," she retorted, crossing to his side. For a moment, she thought about taking the seat beside him. But then she turned away and sat down on the chair opposite, reclining against the cushions.

The Burrow was still, silent. Empty.

It hadn't been like that before. She wasn't entirely sure when the change had happened, when the house that had seemed too small for all of them had suddenly become spacious. They'd moved out, and that could have been part of it, but there was more to it than just that. The emptiness was just as much mental as physical, and even when they were all crowded into the same room, it still felt as though it wasn't quite right.

Fred's absence weighed heavily on them all.

She blinked a few times and wondered, had she felt Percy's absence during the estrangement? She knew it wasn't a fair comparison, Percy hadn't died and so she could have conceivably argued to herself that it was only a matter of time before he came back. But still…

"It is more than just that," Percy agreed softly, contemplatively. "Or, at least, it has the potential to be much more than just that."

"Why aren't you at the courtroom?" Ginny questioned.

Percy's lips curled back into a grim smile. "Father did not think it was a good idea," he replied.

"Why not?" Ginny couldn't help but ask, surprised by the answer.

Percy shrugged slightly, but explained in a dull tone, "He did not want to put me in any unnecessary danger, or to involve me in anything illegal. He did not know what he would be forced to do, should his true loyalties be discovered, and he did not want to drag me into that mess." It was clear that he was repeating, verbatim, what their father had said to him.

It was also clear that he was not thrilled by his father's suggestion, and yet he must have seen the logic to the idea, because he did not argue the point any further. Instead, he lapsed into silence, and left Ginny to her own thoughts.

She could not blame her father for his concern. Percy had been the one to arrange for the trial in the first place, and should it not go well for Hannigan, he was also likely to be the one blamed for it. Keeping him out of the spotlight for as long as possible made sense, assuming that Hannigan would follow the age-old idiom – out of sight, out of mind.

"Percy?" she said tentatively, finding the courage to break the silence.

He looked at her.

"Do you love me?"

Percy sputtered for a moment, obviously caught entirely by surprise by her question. His eyes widened dramatically, almost comically, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed any sort of answer.

"Of course," he stammered finally. "You're my sister."

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, then said, "Do you love the rest of us? Our family, I mean."

"Yes." This time, his answer came faster, and with more assuredness, although he still looked befuddled as to her reason for questioning him on this. "Why?"

Again, she paused, before asking, "Why didn't you visit Dad when he was bitten by the snake? Or Ron, when he was attacked by those brains in the Department of Mysteries? Why didn't you say anything to us at Dumbledore's funeral? Why didn't you come home after… everything?"

Percy did not answer right away. Frown lines marred the skin of his forehead, and his fingers slowly clenched and unclenched, forming fists before he released them and pressed his palms flat against the cushion of the sofa.

"I did visit Dad," he admitted. "I… he was asleep. And no one else was there. It was… late at night. I went to see… to make sure he was not…" He trailed off, not able to utter the last word of that sentence. _Dead_. But it hung between them, an unspoken reminder of what they had lost.

He rose to his feet and turned away from her staring at the Grandfather clock on the mantle. One hand was conspicuously absent, one family member gone.

"But there wasn't any way I could come to Hogwarts without being seen," he continued, his voice thick with guilt. "So that was why I didn't… visit Ron. As for Dumbledore's funeral… I didn't think… I didn't think I was welcome… After all, none of you said anything to me."

He stopped, unable to go on.

"We weren't the ones who had been wrong," Ginny shot back, but even as she said the words, she knew they weren't entirely true. Percy had been wrong about a lot, but so had they. And at this point, she wasn't really sure who had been more wrong.

She wasn't really sure it mattered.

Percy didn't say anything to her comment.

"I thought… it felt like you had… abandoned me…" she muttered finally. "When you left, after that row with Dad… You didn't write, you didn't… I thought you didn't care. About us. About me."

He turned to her, moving so sharply that she pressed herself back against the chair, almost expecting him to curse her. But he made no other moves, just gave her a very long stare, and then said, "I never stopped caring."

"You didn't show it. And you didn't come home."

He smirked, and ugly expression that did not reach his eyes. "Did you notice the clock, Ginny? Did you look at it at any point in the past few years?"

She frowned and nodded. "All the time. We were always in Mortal Peril, though."

"Before that," he countered. "During our fifth year. Before You Know Who made his presence known? Did you see it then? Or even now, since the war has been over?"

She blinked, shook her head. "I don't remember the past."

He sighed. "When you, or Ron, or Bill and Charlie, or George… when you all are here, your hands point towards Home. Even though most of you don't live here anymore."

She glanced at the clock. Sure enough, her elaborately carved hand was pointing towards Home.

"And where does mine point?"

Ginny switched her gaze to his hand, and confusion furrowed her brow. Percy was standing in the living room, right before her, and so his hand should have been pointing to Home. But it wasn't.

It was pointing to Lost.

"Hasn't pointed to Home in a while. I didn't come home, Gin, because… well, this stopped being Home a while ago. Now, whenever I am here, it just…" He jerked his head towards the clock with a weary sigh. Then he walked back to the sofa and sank down, shaking slightly with an exhaustion that was both physical and mental.

She stared at him, and the shuttered look that closed off the emotions in his eyes.

"We all made mistakes," he muttered. "I wasn't the only one. And it was pretty clear that I wasn't welcome back here."

Ginny nodded. "I know," she said slowly, her eyes shining brightly, her words carried an odd emotion that even she could not quite identify. "But I… you were ashamed of us, Percy. You made that so clear when you walked out. You weren't just upset or angry or hurt. You were ashamed of us. And I… I don't know. I guess I just never thought… that you could feel that way about me."

"I'm sorry," Percy whispered. "For everything."

"Yeah," Ginny murmured. "Me, too."

* * *

The witch with ebony hair pulled back into a severe knot rose to her feet and held out her hands, and immediately the courtroom silenced. She cast her gaze over those gathered, letting her emotionless icy blue gaze linger over Kingsley.

"Head council for the prosecution," she announced, "Frederick Hannigan." Whispers ran through the courtroom, a few of the spectators leaning forward in their seats to get a better view of the man expected to be the next Minister of Magic.

Hannigan strode forward, pausing before the Wizengamot. There would be no jury in this trial, no group of impartial wizards hand-selected to decide the disgraced Auror's fate. Just the Wizengamot, influenced by the public's cry for revenge.

He nodded his head to the witch who had called him forward, the one who would be presiding over the trial. Aurora Borealis was fair and open-minded, powerfully magical, and well respected.

And then he began to speak.

"The accused, Kingsley Shacklebolt, answers today for the charges of treason." He paused, letting the last word linger in the air, the worst crime a witch or wizard could commit filling the silence and reverberating off the stone walls. "As you well know, treason carries a penalty of life imprisonment in Azkaban. However, given the nature of this crime, the identity of the accused's co-conspirator, and the death of Minerva McGonagall which resulted, justice should be given by Dementor's Kiss."

The whispers that had rushed through the crowd grew in intensity, turning into a dull roar. Hannigan let the audience, his audience, work themselves into a frenzy, before holding his hand out, signaling that he was not yet done.

Another quiet fell, not as complete as before, and he smiled inwardly.

"And the accused shall be held accountable for his crime. It will be shown that, despite being entrusted with the safety of this country, he chose to betray its good and upstanding citizens to enter into an alliance with the traitor Severus Snape."

A burst of fury resulted from that announcement, filling the room. Shouts rang out, filled with wrath. The noise rose in volume, making the individual words indecipherable from the mass of jumbled cries.

Aurora Borealis banged her gavel several times before order was once more restored.

"The accused used this alliance to bring about the brutal, untimely death of our esteemed Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. And it will be shown," he concluded, his voice rising with passion, "that the intention of this alliance was to instate the accused as the next Minister of Magic!"

He had not mentioned the death of Amos Diggory, although he could certainly bring that up if necessary. He hadn't survived this long in politics without picking up a few tricks. And he knew it was always better to have a few hidden tricks up his sleeve… just in case.

He did not pay attention to the opening arguments made by council for the defense. Blanche Trudea was a well-known barrister from Edinburgh. More well-known than her various accomplishments, however was the fact that she had been childhood friends with Jonathon Abbott. In fact, they had been together at one point, and the breakup had been amicable enough that she was certainly still sympathetic to the other wizard.

It had been easy enough to arrange for to be assigned as Shacklebolt's counsel.

Hannigan gave her a quick, once-over glance, and then let his mind wander to the finer points of the trial.

But while Hannigan might not have been listening to Mrs. Trudea's words, Kingsley was hanging on ever single syllable she uttered. She spoke simply, quietly, and with conviction. Her words came directly to the point as she explained that Auror Shacklebolt had only been acting with the interest of the wizarding community at heart, that McGonagall's death was not his fault, and that, in fact, had he been allowed to carry through with his plan, he would have brought Snape to justice himself.

It was a weak argument, Kingsley knew. Because, the fact of the matter was simply that he _had_ worked with a known Death Eater. A traitor.

"In conclusion," Mrs. Trudea said, even though very few were listening to her speech anymore, "the defense will show that the accused has committed no crime, and that, in fact, he has bravely sacrificed his own security and popularity in order to catch the last of the great remaining threats, Severus Snape."

She said it all with distaste, and Kingsley felt his heart sink. He knew, now, why she had never come to visit him in Azkaban, why she had shown no interest in asking for his side of the story, his defense of his actions.

She wasn't on his side.

And then the trial began.

The first witness for the prosecution was a small, weasely-looking witch with faint gray eyes and a wide grin. She looked inordinately pleased to be on the stand, and as she settled herself into the witness box, she slid a hand over her slightly rumpled robes, smoothing the creases.

"Please state your name and occupation," Hannigan began.

"Elizabeth Brielle," the witch simpered. "I work at Dervish and Banges in Hogsmeade."

"Thank you, Ms. Brielle. Would you please tell us what you witnessed on the afternoon of June 7th?"

"Of course," the witch continued in the same simpering tone. "I had left the shop for a few minutes, and saw Headmistress Minerva McGonagall walking down the path from Hogwarts. I called out a greeting to her, and started in her direction. Then…" she lowered her voice dramatically and whispered, "I saw _him_."

"Who?" Hannigan prompted, a little annoyed by her melodramatic retelling.

"Severus Snape," she said, and a murmur ran through the crowd.

"And what did Snape do?" Hannigan asked.

"He stunned Headmistress McGonagall," Ms. Brielle replied. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, despite the fact that no tears had started to form. "I cried out… there were several other witches and wizards around, and we all started towards him, but we were too late. He looked the Headmistress and disappeared. We could not stop him." She let out a shuddering breath. "How I wish we could have saved her!"

Kingsley eyed the witness with disdain. She was exactly the type of person McGonagall would have despised.

It didn't matter, though. The onlookers were absorbed in the story, commiserating with the witness' fake emotion. A ripple of muttering echoed behind him, but Kingsley did not dare turn his head to meet the accusing gazes he knew would be focused on him.

Instead, he slanted a look at his counsel. She had not objected to this line of questioning, although she should have done so. There was no proof that he had been working with Snape at the time, nor was there any proof that he had known of Snape's plans. In fact, the only time there was any proof of that would come later, after McGonagall had already been killed.

But she hadn't objected.

The chains tightened around his wrists.

When it was time for the cross-examination, Mrs. Trudea rose to her feet and walked over to the witness stand. "Ms. Brielle," she said carelessly, "did you see Kingsley Shacklebolt at any time during the attack on Minerva McGonagall?"

The witness hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she said faintly. "I did not." Then, as an after thought, she added, "Doesn't mean he wasn't part of it, though!"

Kingsley turned frantic eyes to his counsel, but she did not object to the comment. Instead, she just smiled, nodded her head at the witness, and said, "No further questions."

Hannigan called two other witnesses, both from Hogsmeade, to give the same testimony. They corroborated Elizabeth Brielle's story, each elaborating with their own tidbits.

Then Hannigan called another witness, an Auror.

"Tell us, Baker," Hannigan requested, "what happened the night of June 5th?"

Baker leaned forward as he spoke, his eyes darting back and forth between Hannigan and Kingsley. "I was called to the Malfoy Manor along with several Aurors. We were summoned by the Malfoys' elf, who claimed that her master had been attacked by Snape."

"And what happened?"

"When I arrived at the Manor, Auror Shacklebolt was examining a memory from Lucius Malfoy. He later reported to us that the memory showed Snape attacking Malfoy, demanding to know the whereabouts of the Elder Wand."

"Had Snape revealed anything else?" Hannigan asked.

"Only that he was working with Runcorn. He tortured Malfoy for a while, after Malfoy couldn't tell him where the wand was. Then he left."

"And all of this was in Lucius Malfoy's memory?" Hannigan prodded.

"Yes," Baker confirmed.

"Did anyone besides Shacklebolt see this memory?"

Baker hesitated. "No," he said, squirming a little uneasily.

"So you did not, in fact, see this memory yourself?"

Baker shook his head. "No, I did not."

"And you do not know if there was anything else in the memory?" Hannigan continued.

"I only know what Malfoy told us. Auror Shacklebolt agreed that he had told the full story. There was nothing else."

Hannigan turned and looked at Kingsley, a sneer on his features. "Ah, yes… you have the word of Lucius Malfoy and Kingsley Shacklebolt. So if there was anything else in that memory, or it either of them had been lying… well, you wouldn't know, would you?"

"No," Baker admitted.

"Thank you. No further questions."

As he walked back to his seat, he glanced at Kingsley and smirked. And Kingsley had to fight back the urge to struggle to his feet, wanting nothing more than to wipe the smarmy smile from his enemy's face.

Ms. Trudea walked briskly over to the witness stand. "Can you please tell this courtroom, Auror Baker, how long you have worked with Auror Shacklebolt?"

Baker frowned thoughtfully. "About twenty years, I guess. Give or take some."

"And in those twenty years, has Shacklebolt ever, to the best of your knowledge, broken the law? Worked against the Ministry? Attempted to seize power by force?"

"No," Baker answered truthfully.

She nodded. "Has my client, to the best of your knowledge, remained an honest and upstanding citizen?"

"Yes."

"Has he ever asked you to lie for him?"

"No."

"Has he ever asked you to do anything illegal?"

"No."

"Did you ever think he might be in league with Snape? Before the evidence was brought to your attention, that is."

"No."

"Thank you. No further questions."

"Redirect?" Hannigan asked, sidling forward.

"Go ahead, Mr. Hannigan," Aurora Borealis replied with a nod.

"Auror Baker," Hannigan said, "you testified that Shacklebolt never tried to seize power by force, never attempted to work against the Ministry."

"That's right."

"Was Shacklebolt a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Did the Order ever work against the Ministry?"

A pause. Baker obviously had no idea how to respond that that, and he shifted uncomfortably again, glancing quickly at Kingsley.

"Auror Baker?" Hannigan pressed.

"I… I guess so. For a little bit. When… uh… in the last year of Fudge's time as Minister. And then again… uh… when Pius Thicknesse was Minister."

"The Ministry was under control of Voldemort when Thicknesse was Minister!" Kinglsey shouted, unable to stop himself. "And Fudge was incompetent, putting us all in danger! Of course we fought…"

"Silence, Auror Shacklebolt," one of the Wizengamot snarled, and several others echoed the sentiment. "If you wish to say something, please have your counsel do it for you."

Hannigan continued as though he had not been interrupted, as though Kingsley's outburst had not even registered for him.

"So, Shacklebolt has worked against the Ministry before?"

Baker bit his lip, but nodded, "Yes. I guess so."

"For the greater good, of course. He was trying to prevent You Know Who from taking power?" Hannigan said, smiling.

Baker nodded. "Yes, that's right."

Hannigan leaned forward and remarked in a would-be casual tone, "So he was willing to disregard laws in order to do what he thought was right? He believed that the Ministry was wrong, and he wanted to… protect us?"

"I suppose."

Kingsley strained against the chains locking his arms in place. He knew it was pointless, that he would not be able to break the magic that held him in place. But he knew what was happening, could see the entire thing unfolding before his very eyes. He knew where Hannigan was going with this, and he knew that his counsel was not going to do a single thing to stop it.

"By any means necessary?"

"Yes," Baker agreed.

Hannigan turned, glancing at the Wizengamot. "So… if he decided that he would make a better Minister than Amos Diggory, it is conceivable that he would have taken that position from our esteemed Minister… by any means necessary?"

He did not have to say anything else, did not have to elaborate on the implication any further. Diggory's death, the sudden and pointless murder, was so fresh in the minds of the public that they reacted instantaneously, predictably, with a cry of fury and hatred. As one, the audience rose to its feet, yells echoing through the room, shouts bouncing off the walls.

Kinglsey closed his eyes and let the wrath wash over him. His head hurt, his heart pounded frantically, his breath was coming in uneven gasps. How much more of this would he have to endure before they convicted him of treason and sucked away his soul?

He opened his eyes again and inhaled slowly, evenly. He turned slightly in his seat, letting his eyes pass over the angry mod behind him, and landing on the man standing by the door. Arthur Weasley was watching him, and looking very, very worried.

He expelled his breath and sighed. It was over, but it had been over before it had even begun. They had already lost.


	28. Wrap Up

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: The trial continues, Hannigan's deal with Lucius Malfoy is fulfilled, and Yaxley makes a worrisome discovery.

* * *

_Not all that is gold does glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost. _

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wrap-Up

The trial did not improve, nor did the audience become any less vengeful. Hannigan's smirk grew with every witness that he called, and the defense's attempts at dismissing the validity of his arguments were so poor it was a wonder anyone even bothered listening to her in the first place. Kingsley could not help it, and try as he might to convince himself that he needed to stray strong, stay hopeful, he felt the despair wrapping around him with every passing second.

It was as though a Dementor had lodged itself in his chest and would not leave him alone.

Still, despite the overwhelming emotions brought on by the ordeal, the Auror could not help but notice a few oddities about the trial. Not the least of which was the almost complete exclusion of the Malfoys from the proceedings. Lucius had been mentioned on a few occasions, but Narcissa and Draco were left behind. It did not make sense, given that his interactions with Narcissa would have been very good evidence against him. So why was Hannigan purposefully not bringing up the blonde aristocrat?

His wrists had been rubbed raw by the chains, and his head had settled into a perpetual ache as the fury in the room unleashed itself in torrents of noise. He continued to avoid looking at the crowd as much as possible, but he could not ignore their cries of hatred.

_Is this what we have become_, he wondered, _a world that turns only on revenge and wrath?_

Hannigan had called another witness to the stand.

It was Jonathon Abbott.

The wizard settled himself into the witness box and gave Hannigan a grim smile. Then he looked over at Kingsley, his expression filled with disgust, and Kingsley stared unflinchingly back at him, refusing to be intimidated.

Abbott did not even know what he was doing. The fool thought that Hannigan was on the right side, that he would finally allow vengeance against anyone who had supported Voldemort. Didn't he know better? Couldn't he look into Hannigan's eyes and see the lies reflected there?

Apparently not.

Kinglsey shook away those troubled thoughts and focused instead on what Abbott was saying. He had missed the question and the first part of the answer, although it was clear that it had been about Narcissa Malfoy.

"Yes, we arrested her," Abbott said, somewhat disdainfully.

"On what charges?"

"Conspiracy. We believed she knew the whereabouts of Snape." Abbott paused, obviously struggling with something, and then said, "We were wrong."

Kingsley leaned forward in his seat, straining against the chains to get a better look at Abbott's face. As far as he knew, Abbott had not changed his opinion about Narcissa Malfoy. As far as he knew, he still wanted her arrested and sent to Azkaban, still believed she was guilty of treason. So why was he lying about this?

"I see," Hannigan said thoughtfully. "So you arrested and interrogated an innocent woman?"

Again, Abbott paused. Then he nodded slowly, his face suffused with color. "We did."

"And when you realized you were wrong, I presume you released her?"

"Not exactly," Abbott replied. "Before we realized the error of our assumptions, Auror Shacklebolt ordered her released. It was not until later that we discovered she had never had any knowledge of Snape's whereabouts."

Kingsley closed his eyes briefly, recalling the few hours after Narcissa's arrest. He and Abbott had nearly been at each other's throats over that, and that conflict had been the final straw to tear apart their chances of working together in the future. The animosity that existed now would most likely never be set aside.

"I see," Hannigan said thoughtfully. "So the accused ordered you to release a prisoner at a time when you all believed that she was guilty?"

"Yes."

"Did he give a reason?"

"No."

"Is it possible that he knew something you did not? Is it possible that he knew that Mrs. Malfoy was not in fact guilty of these crimes?"

Again, Abbott looked over at Kingsley, his eyes glittering maliciously. "It is possible," he said in a tone that clearly conveyed his disbelief, "although doubtful. If he had such information, why would he have not shared it with the rest of the Department?"

Kingsley slanted a look at his counsel. She should have objected, should have stated that Abbott had no way of knowing exactly what Kingsley had known and that all of his opinions were conjecture and did not belong in a court of law… but she didn't. She did not even meet his gaze. Instead, she stared straight ahead, watching the proceedings with a bored gaze.

Kingsley glanced back at Abbott.

"Can you tell us what happened when Narcissa Malfoy was released from custody?"

"Shacklebolt took her back to the Malfoy Manor. I accompanied him, along with several Aurors. He ordered all of us to wait outside, and took her into the Manor. He was gone for a little while. Then he came out again, and we returned to the Ministry."

"And none of the Aurors accompanied him into the Malfoy Manor?" Hannigan repeated, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Abbott shook his head. "We protested. I wanted one of them to go, to serve as support should she try to escape. At the time, we still believed her to be a criminal, and it seemed like a foolish idea to leave her alone with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. But he wanted to go alone."

"To escort her inside?"

"Yes."

"And he was gone for a long time?"

"No, not long. But longer than we had expected. If he was just taking her within the wards and leaving, it would have only been a few moments. He was gone long enough that we grew worried. But then he emerged from the Manor unscathed, and said that they had only exchanged words."

"Did he tell you what he spoke to Mrs. Malfoy about while he was alone in the Manor with her?"

"No."

"Did you ask?"

"Yes. He told me it was not my concern, and I had already overstepped my boundaries by ordering her arrest in the first place." Abbott glanced at the Wizengamot, his eyes flickering over all the faces that were turned towards him, before adding, "I never learned what their conversation was about."

"Interesting," Hannigan drawled, smirking.

The problem with this testimony was that Narcissa Malfoy _was_ guilty of treason. She was in contact with Snape, she had been able to set up a meeting between Kingsley and the potions Master. Whether or not Hannigan knew any of that was still anyone's guess, but it did not make sense that anyone, least of all the person who had engineered this entire farce, would be so actively trying to keep her name clean from all accusations.

Turning to face Kingsley, Hannigan continued, "When Shacklebolt returned Mrs. Malfoy to her home, was Lucius Malfoy present?"

"Yes," Abbott answered.

Kingsley blinked, surprised. That was a complete lie. Not only did Abbott have no way of knowing the answer to that question, but Lucius Malfoy had _not_ been present when he had brought Narcissa back to the Manor. That was part of the reason that he had been able to speak to Narcissa privately, because she _had_ been alone.

"How do you know that, if you did not go into the Manor with them?"

"Mr. Malfoy arrived home shortly after we came to his Manor. He Apparated directly outside the front door, so we saw him enter the house."

Kingsley tried to lift a hand to run his fingers over his sweaty and dirty hair, but the chains tugged at his wrists and he gave them an abashed stare. For a moment, he had almost forgotten that he was still chained to this chair, still trapped in the courtroom, forced to endure the trial.

But things were starting to fall into place. For some reason, Abbott was lying, and he was doing it on Hannigan's instructions. For some reason, Hannigan didn't want Narcissa Malfoy accused of treason, but he didn't mind if Lucius Malfoy was dragged under. It didn't make a whole lot of sense, but it was somewhere to start.

He twisted in his seat and caught Arthur Weasley's gaze. He needed to talk to Arthur as soon as possible, although he had no idea when that would be. But someone had to look into this, someone had to figure what Hannigan was doing, and why.

Hannigan was still asking questions, still staring directly at Kingsley as he did so, still wearing that same smug smile.

"He arrived shortly after Shacklebolt entered with Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"And he would have had time to speak to Shacklebolt, then?"

"I suppose so."

Hannigan turned back to Abbott, a smirk now fixed firmly onto his features. "One last question, Mr. Abbott," he said. "You told us that Narcissa Malfoy had been cleared of all charges. Was the same true for her husband?"

"No. Lucius Malfoy is still a person of interest. We still believe he has been in contact with Severus Snape."

* * *

When Hannigan called Narcissa Malfoy to the stand, a complete silence fell over the courtroom. Kingsley twisted sharply, his gaze flying instantly to the blonde witch as she made her way through the crowded room towards the witness stand. She glanced at him once, their eyes meeting, and her gaze was hard and cold.

Kingsley swallowed nervously, wondering what she would say. He looked away from her again, glancing instead at the Wizangamot. It seemed that they, too, were surprised by her presence, although surely Hannigan would have informed them of his intention to call her to the stand.

He snapped his attention back to Hannigan as the other wizard asked his first question.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I understand you were recently mistakenly arrested for treason by Jonathon Abbott?"

"That's right," Narcissa answered coolly, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"What happened?"

She sneered as she answered, "I was rudely interrogated by your incompetent Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When it became clear that there was no case against me and that they could not legally hold me any longer, I was released."

Her tone was bitter, angry, and there was something else in depths of her expression, some other emotion that he could not quite identify. Was it fear? Remorse? Pain?

In a flash of understanding, he realized she did not want to be on the stand. She had been placed there by someone else, forced into testifying, _lying_ if necessary… but by whom? Hannigan? It seemed unlikely, unless somehow Hannigan had promised her something in return. Or…

Lucius? Kingsley knew, better than most, just how far Narcissa would go to protect her family. If Lucius had found a way to save them… But Hannigan had made it clear that he was targeting Lucius, leaving the elder Malfoy to take the blame for everything else… so that would mean Narcissa, now that she was on the stand, would be testifying against her own husband. And that did not make sense.

It didn't make sense at all.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hannigan said politely, folding his arms across his chest as he strode towards her, "can you please tell us, in your own words, what happened after you were released from custody?"

Narcissa hesitated, then said softly, "Auror Shacklebolt returned me to my home. The other Aurors that accompanied us remained outside. I went in… with him."

"And then?"

Narcissa shrugged gracefully. "He apologized for my… poor treatment… at the hands of his Aurors. Then he asked me, once again, if I was sure I had no knowledge of Snape's whereabouts. I assured him that I did not, and that I would contact him immediately should that change. Then…" She stopped, trailed off with a reluctant look at Hannigan.

"Yes?" Hannigan prompted, his eyes hardening, his expression becoming fierce.

She swallowed, continued in a barely audible voice, "My husband came home. Auror Shacklebolt stated that he needed to ask my husband a few questions. Privately. I left the parlor, went up to my own room."

Kingsley's jaw dropped. That was a complete lie.

"Do you know what your husband and the accused spoke of while you were gone?"

She shook her head. "No."

Hannigan leaned forward, his manner becoming slightly more threatening. "I must remind you, Mrs. Malfoy, that you are under oath. Are you sure you do not know what your husband and the accused spoke of?"

She drew a shaky breath, composed herself. "I heard a few… phrases. They were talking about Snape. Auror Shacklebolt was trying to… he was asking my husband if he knew… where Snape was. He said he needed to get in contact with the potions Master. Right away. I know nothing else."

Hannigan nodded with a faint smile. "Thank you," he said, and his tone was dripping with fake sympathy. "I recognize how difficult it is for you to testify to something that has the potential to incriminate your husband. We appreciate and admire your… dedication… to the safety of our world, and thank you for the sacrifices you are willing to make."

And the room was filled with the sound of clapping.

Kinglsey twisted, looked around. The crowd was _applauding_ Narcissa Malfoy, praising her supposed courage and honesty. Didn't they know she was lying? Couldn't they tell that nothing she had said was true?

Narcissa left the witness box amidst the sound of applause, and walked stiffly from the room. At the door, she paused and looked back, her eyes lingering for just a fraction of a heartbeat on Kingsley's disbelieving face. Then she turned and was gone, the door shutting firmly behind her.

* * *

"That was a very believable testimony you gave," Arthur Weasley said as he approached Narcissa outside the courtroom.

She turned and looked at him, face devoid of all emotion. "It should be believable," she said in an equally emotionless voice. "I told the truth."

The elderly redhead shook his head. "Did you?" he asked, his tone conveying his refusal to accept her words. "Kingsley is not guilty of treason. But I'm fairly certain you are. All you do is lie."

"Indeed?" Narcissa murmured. She inclined her head towards the courtroom door and added, "They do not agree with you, it would seem."

"They will," Mr. Weasley replied firmly, angrily. "Trust me, they will see your true colors in time. And we will have justice."

She stepped closer to him, her lips curving into a sardonic smile. "They will see what they want to see, Mr. Weasley. Nothing more, nothing less. Only naïvely foolish Gryffindors believe in justice. The rest of us know it is just an illusion."

"So you will betray Kingsley to save your own skin? Tell me, what did you have to offer Hannigan for him to accept the deal? Your husband?"

Narcissa clenched her hands into fists, two splotches of color appearing on her cheeks. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and then she forced herself to say in a calm tone, "I believe this conversation is done. Unless you have other baseless accusations to throw at me?"

"They aren't baseless," Mr. Weasley retorted. "Just wait, Mrs. Malfoy. You will pay for this someday."

"Is that a threat?"

He shrugged. "Take it any way you'd like."

"Good day, Mr. Weasley." She turned and walked down the hallway, her heels clicking against the stone floor and echoing in the silence. She did not need to look back to know that Arthur Weasley was watching her, his eyes burning into her back as he followed her progress towards the elevators.

She drew a long breath, pausing before the elevators, and closed her eyes.

"Forgive me, Lucius," she whispered.

* * *

When Hannigan pushed open the door to his office, he was surprised to see Yaxley pacing restlessly back and forth across the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Hannigan hissed, closing the door firmly behind him. "What if someone had been with me? I can't take the risk of being seen with you, not yet."

"We have bigger problems to worry about," Yaxley retorted, looking worried.

"Yeah, we do," Hannigan agreed. "You were supposed to contact me before the trial started. I haven't heard anything from you or Runcorn. Where have you _been_?"

"Runcorn's missing," Yaxley snapped, shaking his head. "There was a break in at the house in France. I was only gone for a few hours, and now…"

"You think Runcorn is in trouble?" Hannigan demanded. "But… how did anyone find you? You said that house would be safe. You said no one would know anything about it."

"No one should have known," Yaxley defended himself. "My uncle hadn't used it in years." He sank into the chair across from the desk, staring hard at the now nervous Hannigan. "But someone found it and broke in."

"How? Don't you have decent wards?" Hannigan snapped. He took a breath, and shook his head, hoping to clear his befuddled mind. "Maybe it wasn't anything. Maybe he just went out… for a walk or something."

"Don't be an idiot," Yaxley growled. "Of course he didn't just leave. We made a deal, I was leaving to get some food, some supplies, and a newspaper. He wouldn't have walked out, not with so much riding on this. Besides, the place was… there were signs of a fight. Magic still lingering in the air, some of the rooms disturbed, the stairs destroyed. It's not… he did _not_ leave willingly."

"But who? How? Why?" Hannigan stammered, flustered. The rush of success he had felt from the trial was fading now, and fading fast. Now, and sense of unease settled over him, too many pieces up in the air, too many factors he couldn't control.

"How is the trial going?" Yaxley asked, running his hand over the smooth surface of the desk.

"Good. We're taking a break now, it will resume in an hour. Shacklebolt will be found guilty before the day is over, I can promise you that."

Yaxley nodded vaguely, and asked, "And the Malfoys? This trial is supposed to set them up as well."

Hannigan shifted, and said, "Yes. That's going well, also." He wasn't quite ready to reveal the deal he had made with Lucius Malfoy, or the circumstances behind it. The fact that he had been forced to give in to blackmail still rankled, and he had no doubt that neither Runcorn or Yaxley would be pleased with what he had done, with the fact that Narcissa Malfoy would walk away from the trial without a scratch on her reputation.

In fact, she'd walk away a hero.

He hadn't expected that turn of events when he had convinced Lucius Malfoy to put this plan into action. He didn't know what Lucius had said to Narcissa to make her agree with it, to convince her to take the witness stand and lie to the Wizengamot, but she had done it. And she'd done it well. And if that meant that she and her son would rise in the ranks of society once more and resume their places as leaders of the wizading world… well, as long as he still ended up with the Ministry under his control, he could not complain.

On the other hand, none of this would matter if something had happened to Runcorn.

"Was Potter at the trial?" Yaxley asked finally.

"No," Hannigan said, shaking his head. "Neither were the Granger girl or that Weasley sidekick." After a very pointed silence, he asked worriedly, "Do you think…?"

"It's possible. It sounds like something Potter would do. Although how he even knew where to look for us…"

"Or how he got past the wards," Hannigan interjected forcefully. "Shacklebolt and Snape only got past the wards around your manor because you let them. You wanted them to come. I presume you didn't _want_ Potter to attack you at your home is France?" he asked sarcastically. "Or were you really just that careless?"

Yaxley flushed at the accusation and replied, "Of course we weren't foolish enough to leave the place so unguarded." He did not elaborate, but he had a pretty good idea of why the wards would have been so lax. If Runcorn had seen it was Potter at the gates, he would have lowered the wards enough to allow the Boy Who Lived access. He was far too convinced of his own abilities, and could not have turned away from the chance to get rid of Potter and his annoying sidekicks.

But Hannigan did not need to know that. Hannigan still believed that they were doing everything possible to leave Potter out of this plan. The wizard was naïve enough to trust them when they said they would not cause any unnecessary harm to the boy hero.

But none of this explained how they had been found. Potter did not have the information necessary to learn this sort of thing, nor did he have the contacts to find it. The old manor had not been used in ages, and it was inconceivable that anyone who had not known his uncle in the past would have been able to locate the place.

On a whim, he asked, "The Malfoys… were all three of them at the trial?"

"No. Narcissa Malfoy, but not her husband or her son." Hannigan ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "If Potter has Runcorn, if he brings him here…"

"I know," Yaxley snapped. "We just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"How?"

Yaxley considered this for a moment, then said, "Potter's brave, but still an idiot when it comes to basic sense. He'll want to rush right back to the Ministry, make sure he can help his poor, unfortunate, wrongly-accused Kingsley Shacklebolt. He won't plan it out, he'll just come here. If we intercept him before he makes it to the courtroom…"

"Can you do that?" Hannigan asked.

"Yes," Yaxley said, rising to his feet. "You just make sure Shacklebolt, Snape, and the Malfoys all get what's coming to them. I'll deal with Potter."

"He can't be hurt in any way," Hannigan ordered as Yaxley walked past him and towards the door. "Just stun him, erase his memory of this, modify it if you can… but that's all. I don't want any more deaths."

"Fine," Yaxley said under his breath as he walked out the door.

Hannigan wasn't entirely sure if he could trust the other man to keep his word, but he could not waste time worrying about that right now. He had a trial to finish.

* * *

"How did it go?" Lucius Malfoy asked as he downed another shot of whisky.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose at the smell of stale alcohol that lingered in the air. "You're drinking," she said.

He put down the glass and turned towards her. "I gave away my life today, Narcissa," he said fiercely, even though his words were slurred slightly by the alcohol. "I think I have a right to drink."

"Drinking is one thing," Narcissa replied, taking the glass away from him and placing it on the side table by the entrance to the parlor. "Getting drunk is entirely different. And unbecoming."

"So is going mad in Azkaban. Did you testify?"

"Yes," Narcissa answered shortly, coolly.

"And?" Lucius prompted.

"And I was brilliant," she answered in an icy tone. "The audience in the courtroom applauded me as I left. I'm a hero, and Draco and I will be safe." She turned away from him. "You gave away your life today, Lucius. I sold my soul."

"You did what you had to do to keep our son safe," Lucius answered.

She looked towards the window. "I did not have the stomach to stay for the rest of the trial. I do not know what will happen now. I had hoped…" She trailed off and did not finish the statement, but a look of resignation appeared briefly in her eyes.

"You had hoped that your darling sister would help you," Lucius snorted. "You place far too much trust in her. Andromeda is many things, but she has long since stopped being one of us."

She whirled to face him, eyes flashing. "And what are we, Lucius? Are we also a family? I find it hard to believe that. I gave my husband to Azkaban today. I let you convince me to…" Again, she stopped, tears pricking at her eyes. "How could you ask me to do this?"

"What other choice did we have?" Lucius questioned softly, coming to her side. "It was the only deal I could make with Hannigan. It will keep you safe."

"At what cost?" she whispered. "What is the point of safety, when I have lost my family? Not even Andie will help me now."

"You have not lost your family. You still have Draco. Our son. And now he is entirely yours, Cissy. You are the one who must keep him safe. I've done all I can for both of you."

Narcissa reached up and ran her fingers lightly along the side of his face. "Lucius…" she started.

He cut her off, catching her hand in his own. "I imagine the Aurors will be here to arrest me any minute. Hannigan will not want to wait."

She nodded, a sob caught in her throat, and they both heard the sound of footsteps walking up the pathway towards the front door of their Manor. They had come.

"Goodbye, Cissy," Lucius said, and walked past her towards the front door, towards the Aurors who he knew would take him to Azkaban.

In the silence left behind him, Narcissa watched her husband walk away from her, and felt her heart break.


	29. World on Fire

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Alright, I'm going to give a warning – there will be the death of a character in this chapter. Not a major character, but an important one. Did I mention this wasn't going to be the happiest of stories?

Summary: As Kingsley's trial comes to a close, tragedy strikes, and chaos reigns once more.

* * *

_Not all that is gold does glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Twenty-Eight: World on Fire

_I watch the heavens, but I find no calling  
Something I can do to change what's coming  
Stay close to me while the sky is falling  
Don't want to be left alone, don't want to be alone._

_-Sarah McLachlan, "World on Fire"_

The atrium of the Ministry was nearly empty. All employees had fought their way to the courtroom, or lingered in the hallway outside, listening through the open door to the proceedings. Only a few were left behind, grumbling over their lot in life as they were forced to forgo the spectacle in order to do their jobs.

Percy stood in the corner of the atrium, near the fireplaces that lined the walls, serving as access points for anyone connected to the Floo Network. He couldn't help the sinking sensation in his stomach, the knowledge that things were happening to affect him and his family, and it was all now out of his control.

He had heard whispers, rumors that Lucius Malfoy had been arrested and taken to Azkaban, that Narcissa Malfoy was now considered a heroine, worthy of praise. It was strange, he reflected, how easily she could manipulate others, how she could climb up the social ladder even when everyone else predicted that her reputation would remain forever varnished.

He wondered what this maneuver had cost her. He wondered if she cared at all for her husband, the man she had condemned to a life of misery. He did not think highly of the Malfoys, but he had always thought that Narcissa loved her family. Now, he was no longer sure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of movement, and turned to watch as two wizards emerged from the hallway leading to the elevators, talking heatedly. It was Nott and Zabini, and they were obviously upset about something. Nott was gesturing with his hands, and Zabini looked furious.

Percy had no doubt that Mrs. Malfoy's testimony, and her husband's subsequent arrest, did not sit well with either of the influential Slytherins. He did not know either of them well, although they had both been Ron's year at Hogwarts. But he knew still had money, and some pull within the Ministry. He wondered vaguely if they would cause any trouble.

"Perce?"

He turned away from Nott and Zabini at the sound of Penny's voice, and smiled. "Hey."

The Healer leaned came to his side, leaning against him. "I got your owl, but I don't understand why you are here. I thought we were meeting at your flat."

"I just…" Percy sighed and shook his head, wishing he could explain. But he couldn't, not when he himself didn't understand his desire to be here. "The trial…"

"I know," Penny said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, "but we've already determined that you can't do anything to help. Not right now, anyway. You've already done enough, you've bought the others some time to…"

"To what?" Percy asked pointedly. "What do they think they can do? Hannigan will end the trial soon, and we are no closer to stopping this… this… travesty." He let out a breath, frustrated and uneasy, and shook his head again. "I don't like this feeling, Pen. It's like we're rushing towards the end of something… and it is going to be big… and there is nothing I can do to stop it, no way I can prepare for the inevitable."

"The end is not inevitable," Penny argued gently. "Just wait, Percy."

"For what?"

Penny didn't have an answer to that, and Percy sighed and gave her a tired smile. They were silent for a moment, each contemplating the unknown future that lay ahead, a future that would be determined by this trial, by the complete miscarriage of justice that was happening below their very feet.

"What are you two doing here?" a cool voice demanded, and Percy glanced up sharply to see Zabini now standing before him, arms folded across his chest. "Why aren't you down watching the trial? It's quite the show, isnt' it?"

Penny answered quickly, "What are you doing here, Zabini?"

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes and said, "I'll tell you what I'm not doing, Clearwater. I'm not standing about, gloating, as my precious Ministry destroys the lives of innocent people." With a sneer, he added, "But I suppose you're happy about all this? After all, your Ministry has caught the vilest of traitors, hasn't it?"

"_Our_ Ministry," Percy corrected softly, wearily.

"Hardly," Zabini spat. "Not with that fool Abbott running the show. Just watch, Weasley. You might think you've won, but you'll regret this soon enough. I promise you that."

"The trail isn't over yet," Percy said off-handedly. "I wouldn't be too quick to place bets on how it will end."

Zabini gave a snort of disgust at Percy's words and said, "It's practically over. Or haven't you heard?"

A feeling of dread twisted painfully in Percy's stomach, and he shared a frantic glance with Penny as he asked, "Heard what, Zabini?"

"Counsel for the defense declined to present a case," Zabini answered with icy derision.

"_What_?" Percy gasped, his heart momentarily freezing in his chest. If the counsel for the defense did not present a defense, the trial would immediately go to a vote. The Wizengamot could be deciding Kingsley's fate even as he stood here, arguing with the haughty Slytherin.

"She said she had already made her case during her cross-examinations," Zabini drawled, clearly enjoying the looks of absolute horror on the faces of Percy and Penny. "She didn't want to waste the Wizengamot's time with more pointless witnesses. Shacklebolt protested, not that it did any good. The Wizengamot didn't care."

"Are they voting now?" Penny breathed.

Zabini shrugged. "If not now, then they will be soon enough. What's the matter? Did you think your Ministry had more scruples than this? Well, I am sorry to burst your bubble, but they are nowhere near as perfect as you think. Still, I suppose you don't care, do you? By the end of the hour, Lucius will be in Azkaban for the rest of his life, and Shacklebolt will most likely lose his soul. Snape, too, though no one cares about that, do they?"

Then he shook his head and stepped around Percy, catching up with Nott who was waiting near one of the fire places, and the two Floo'ed away.

Percy watched the two leave, his expression grim. "I might disagree with him about everthing else," he muttered under his breath, "but this…"

"Can she do that?" Penny asked, aghast. "Just… not present a case? Have no defense?"

Percy shrugged. "If it serves Hannigan's cause, she can probably do whatever she likes. He's in charge of it all now, and it seems no one can stop him.

And then, quite suddenly, the atrium was filled with the resonating cracks of several people Apparating. Percy and Penny both turned towards the sound in alarm and confusion. The two others who were lingering in the room, both witches, drew their wands in simultaneous movements, as though afraid they were under attack.

And Harry, Hermione, and Ron appeared, accompanied by Draco Malfoy and the unconscious body of someone Percy could not see clearly.

For a moment, there was a complete silence.

Then both witches crumpled to the ground, unconscious, followed quickly by Ron. All three of them had been caught completely unawares, and as Hermione spun to face the direction of the attack, another burst caught her off-guard as well, and she, too, slid to the ground, pain etched into her features, her wand falling from her hand.

Yaxley stepped out of the shadows, his wand outstretched, his eyes glittering wildly.

"Think you're clever, don't you, Potter?" he asked, his words laced with bitterness. "Think you've somehow won? You fool…" His gaze flicked sideways to Malfoy and he added, "I should have known you'd turn out to be every bit as much a traitor as your mother."

Malfoy quickly knelt at Hermione's side, checking for a pulse, even as he spat, "You're the traitor, Yaxley! Willing to destroy my family just to get what you want." Then, to Harry, who was himself kneeling beside Ron, the blonde wizard said, "She's alive. I feel a heartbeat."

"He is, too," Harry answered, and Percy felt himself flood with relief.

He'd already lost one brother, the idea of losing another…

By this point, Malfoy, Harry, Percy, and Penelope had all drawn their wands. Yaxley was outnumbered, but the atrium remained empty of anyone else, and he did not look too worried.

"Hmm… pity," Yaxley muttered, giving Hermione a cruel look. "I should have killed the Mudblood. Oh well… next time."

"Don't call her that!" Harry snarled.

"Why not? It's what she is, isn't it?" Yaxley sneered. "Mudbloods and blood traitors. Better luck picking your friends next time, Potter. If there even is a next time."

And he flicked his wrist, a jet of red light scorching the air and flying directly at the Boy Who Lived. Harry conjured a shield just in time, even as Penny and Percy both sent stunners towards Yaxley. Yaxley dodged them and pointed his wand at the unconscious man, who Percy now saw was Runcorn. Another jet of light woke the Dark wizard.

Runcorn clambered to his feet, looking every bit as confused as Percy felt. But the older wizard seemed to have a better grasp on the situation, and he instantly dove forward, seizing Hermione's wand from the floor by her limp form and spinning to confront the others.

Percy shared a glance with Penny. "Get help!" he hissed frantically. He had no idea what was happening or why his brother, Hermione, Harry, and Malfoy – _Malfoy_, of all people – had shown up in the middle of the atrium with an unconscious Runcorn. But it didn't matter, none of it mattered. The only thing that seemed important was that his family was in danger again, and he had to stop it. He couldn't let anything happen to Ron.

Penny nodded and hurried towards the hallway leading to the elevators, but Runcorn shot a curse at her, and she was forced to turn and fight back. Percy, torn between helping her and rushing to his brother's side.

Penny, however, seemed to be the only one thinking clearly at the moment, and quickly conjured a Patronus. The silver creature bounded out of sight, floating through the hallways towards its intended target in the courtroom far below. It would only be a matter of time before help arrived.

"Do you really think you can win?" Malfoy asked, facing Yaxley. "You're outnumbered, or haven't you noticed that?"

"It won't do you any good," Yaxley sneered. "I imagine the Aurors will be coming for you soon."

"I wouldn't count on that," Percy interrupted, attacking Yaxley even as me moved closer to Penny. His eyes darted in between Runcorn and Yaxley, and Penny came to his side, uniting with him against the two enemies. "I think Hannigan has made it pretty clear that nothing will happen to Narcissa or Draco Malfoy."

Both Yaxley and Runcorn froze, clearly surprised and disturbed by that revelation. "What do you mean?" Yaxley demanded sharply, turning away from Harry and Malfoy to face Percy.

Percy hesitated, not sure how to answer. Why did Yaxley and Runcorn look so furious, so betrayed?

Yaxley lunged forward, shooting curses from his wand. "Answer me!"

Penny conjured a shield around her boyfriend, protecting them both from the attack. Harry reacted quickly as well, taking advantage of Yaxley's inattention and firing a stunning spell at him. Yaxley barely ducked in time, and lost his footing, stumbling and falling to the floor. In a rage, Yaxley sent another curse towards Harry, a burst of heat crackling through the air and sending Harry flying backwards.

The Boy Who Lived slammed into the floor, momentarily stunned.

Yaxley turned back to Percy. "Answer me," he ordered once more, his words harsh and demanding. "What did Hannigan do?"

Percy retorted fiercely, "He framed an innocent man. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"What did he do about the Malfoys? _Tell me_!"

"He made Narcissa Malfoy a heroine," Percy replied, his words hard and cold, filled with venom. "Lucius Malfoy will be in prison for the rest of his life, thanks to his wife's testimony against him, but Mrs. Malfoy and her son…" his eyes moved to Draco Malfoy for a moment, then snapped back to Yaxley, "they're heroes. Trust me, nothing will happen to them."

"What?" Runcorn snarled, eyes filled with wrath.

It was Malfoy's voice, however, soft and filled with unmistakable horror, that caught Percy's attention. "My mother did _what_?"

Percy felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the other boy, but squashed it immediately. He didn't care about Malfoy, couldn't care about him. Not right now. Not with Runcorn and Yaxley standing before him, and Ron unconscious on the floor.

Harry was back on his feet, walking forward with a determined glare. And the fight began again, faster and more furious than before. Runcorn had turned his full attention to Percy, as though blaming Percy himself for being the bearer of bad news. Penny, standing by her boyfriend's side, did her best to protect them against the onslaught of Dark spells, even as Percy lashed back with his own magic.

He chanced a glance at Harry, and saw him kneeling next to Ron, muttering some spells as Malfoy stood over them, protecting them, and Hermione, from Yaxley's attack.

And ever so slowly, Ron opened his eyes and groaned, groping immediately for his wand as he struggled to sit up. He looked around, wide eyes taking in his surroundings, and Harry moved past him towards Hermione.

And then Runcorn's spell caught Percy in the shoulder and he tore his gaze away from Harry and Ron, his expression twisting as pain flooded through his arm. He dropped his wand, stumbling to his knees, falling away from Penny as the hot, sticky blood spread out along the sleeves of his robes.

"Percy!" Penny cried, turning towards him.

Face flushed with triumph, Runcorn turned towards Penny, his wand pointed directly at her, a curse forming on the tip of his tongue.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Percy looked up, a scream of terror dying on his lips, as time seemed to slow down. And there was nothing he could do but watch in helpless horror as the jet of green light curved through the air and slammed into Penny's chest, knocking her backwards. She toppled over, crumpling to the ground, her eyes open, staring unseeingly at the ceiling above.

And Percy's world shattered into a million broken pieces.

* * *

The Patronus burst into the courtroom, falling through the ceiling and landing directly before the Wizengamot. "We're under attack in the atrium. We need help," came the frantic voice that Arthur Weasley recognized as belonging to Penelope Clearwater.

And that was all it took for the rest of the room to erupt into panicked pandemonium.

For Arthur, however, the panic was a very different sort. It was focused on one thought and one thought only – that if Penelope was there, Percy was likely to be in the atrium as well. And that glimmer of an idea was all it took for the redheaded wizard to shove his way roughly through the crowd and sprint into the packed corridor, rushing towards the staircases that would take him to the atrium.

He paid not attention to the chaos behind him, only dimly aware of shouting voices, the cries of fear, the accusations thrown back and forth between the witches and wizards gathered.

By the time he reached the atrium, his heart was pounding frantically, pumping fear and dread through his veins. He burst through the door, his eyes quickly scanning the room, and he found himself coming to a sudden stop as he noticed that Ron was there as well, looking dazed and bewildered, and injured.

And then Arthur looked past Ron, and the breath left his body.

Percy was kneeling on the floor, tears slipping from his eyes, his entire body shaking with silent sobs as he cradled Penny's dead body.

Aurors came spilling out of the fireplaces, flashes of green flames the only warning before they appeared. Once again, Arthur saw little of it, and cared about what was happening even less. All he could do was stare in horror at the tableau stretched out before him, the spit-second of a battle frozen in time.

Harry was kneeling next to Hermione, his eyes fixed on Percy even though his wand still hovered over the unconscious witch. Ron and Malfoy both stood above them, Ron's gaze pinned on Percy while Malfoy stared at Runcorn. And Yaxley, still and silent as well, as though not quite sure what had happened.

And then there was Percy, blood dripping from the sleeve of his robes, head bowed over Penny…

Runcorn twisted on the spot, shooting a few spells in rapid succession at the Aurors. It was that action that broken the stillness, and Yaxley, too, began to fight once more. They were far outnumbered, unable to fight the masses of Aurors, and a well-placed stunning spell sent Runcorn to the floor.

Yaxley, however, was able to pull away from the battle long enough to rush towards the Golden Trio and Malfoy. Arthur turned, his wand out, watching as Malfoy tried to confront the Dark wizard. But the young blonde was not fast enough, and within moments, Yaxley had disarmed him and seized the boy's arm.

And then Yaxley spun around and was gone, taking Malfoy with him.

* * *

It was a disaster.

Or, Hannigan decided thoughtfully, it could become a disaster. But it wasn't one yet. He was still in control of the trial, and he still had the necessary influence to make this turn out the way he wanted. He just needed to take the right steps, to ensure that he succeeded in the end.

Everything had started out so well. It had been hard to convince Jonathon Abbott to go along with his proposed plan, hard to manipulate the wizard into agreeing to lie on the stand. But Abbott was still enough of a fool that he did not see what was right in front of him, could never see the truth because of his own hatred, his own prejudice. And when Hannigan had told him that lying – absolving Narcissa and Draco of their sins – was the only way to ensure that Lucius Malfoy would spend the rest of his life going mad in Azkaban…

Abbott had eventually agreed. And, after all, it would help convict Shacklebolt as well.

But the Wizengamot had never had the chance to vote. Not that it mattered now, given all that had happened. They could vote tomorrow, and perhaps he would be able to use that vote to remove more than just one enemy.

He looked at the reporter who sat across from him, a mousy, nondescript-looking man with sharp eyes and a quill held tightly in one hand.

"Ms. Clearwater was a promising witch, a fine Healer," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Her death, a death that occurred in the very entrance to the Ministry, is a blow to all of us. She will be greatly missed."

He paused, and for a moment all that could be heard was the scratch of the quill against the parchment as the reporter for the Daily Prophet took rapid notes.

Then Hannigan continued, "The pain of her death is only compounded by the kidnapping of young Draco Malfoy, a despicable action to occur so soon after Mrs. Malfoy testified against her husband and Shacklebolt."

"Do you believe that the kidnapping is related to the testimony?"

"I do," Hannigan answered gravely. "Runcorn and Yaxley were both known associates of Lucius Malfoy's before Malfoy supposedly reformed. It is obvious that they have come back, seeking revenge against Narcissa and Draco. In fact, I would not be surprised if they were in league with Malfoy… and Shacklebolt."

The reporter continued scribbling furiously, and Hannigan lapsed into silence for a moment, thinking. He had to get Draco back, and quickly, or else Narcissa would reveal what she knew about him, what her husband had told her about the event all those years ago… It meant making a move against Runcorn and Yaxley, breaking his ties with the two. It was sooner than he had originally intended, and he would need to be careful, need to make sure that they could not do him any harm.

But he was smart, he was resourceful. He knew how to adapt. He would succeed.

"And the trial of Shacklebolt?" the reporter asked.

"The Wizangamot will vote tomorrow," Hannigan answered with a grim smile. "If evidence comes to light that Shacklebolt was in league with Runcorn and Yaxley," here he paused and thought to himself that he would need to find a way to manufacture such evidence, "then we will add that to his list of accused crimes. I will not let him escape justice."

"And Draco Malfoy?"

"Our finest Aurors are looking for him even as we speak," Hannigan assured the reporter. "And I am still optimistic. We must cling to hope, for it is all we have in these dark times. But we have fought this war before, and we have emerged triumphant. I will not let anyone take that from us, not again. Not without fighting back."

Within an hour, he knew, his words would be printed in the Daily Prophet and circulated through the majority of homes in wizarding Britain. Within the hour, he would have enough popularity and enough prestige to secure his place as Minister of Magic… and to get rid of anyone who stood in his way.

The final issue was Harry Potter, and he still had no idea how to best deal with the boy. He did not want any harm to come to him, but the Boy Who Lived was still a threat. He knew far too much, and that threat needed to be eliminated.

Soon.

* * *

The Burrow was silent.

Percy had locked himself in his old room and refused to speak to anyone, and no amount of cajoling on the part of Mrs. Weasley could convince him to open the door. So she stood on the stairs outside his room, silently waiting for the moment when her grieving son would open the door and look for comfort. And she swore to herself she would wait for as long as necessary, just to make sure that she was there when he needed her.

Bill and Charlie sat on the sofa in the living room, and Fleur paced in silence across the worn floor, holding her young daughter in her arms. Mr. Weasley was absent, having taken both Ron and Hermione to St. Mungo's to be treated for their various injuries. George had gone with them, apparently deciding he could be more helpful at the hospital than in the tense and silent Burrow.

Percy had refused the hospital. His wounds could be cleaned easily enough by the Muggle way, and bandaged with torn strips of cloth. They were shallow cuts, and he was in no danger of any permanent damage. But Ginny had insisted on inspecting them before leaving Percy to his solitary grief.

Ginny sat on the steps outside the Burrow, with Harry at her side. They, too, were waiting. Waiting for Percy to emerge, waiting for Ron and Hermione to recover. Waiting for this all to be over.

For Harry, though, there were other thoughts on his mind. Thoughts that revolved around Snape, the man whom he had detested for years. From the very first moment he had arrived at Hogwarts, it seemed as though the animosity between himself and the potions Professor was inevitable. There was a bitterness to Snape, a darkness that Harry never really understood.

Never bothered to understand.

He wondered, vaguely, what it was like to spy on Voldemort. What it was like to venture back into that inner circle, over and over and over, to stand back and watch others die because he had to maintain his cover, he could not afford to be suspected…

Harry had never been good at letting those he cared about get hurt. What Hermione had called his hero-complex, what had forced him to save Ginny during his second year, to go to the Department of Mysteries during his fifth… He could not even begin to comprehend what he would have done if he had been forced to watch someone die, unable to intervene to help.

Forced to stand there and laugh cruelly as others screamed in tortured agony…

The darkness in Snape… he understood some of it now. Not all of it, but enough. Enough…

He had seen enough memories to know that Snape had been bullied at Hogwarts… bullied by Harry's own father…

And he had lost Lily's friendship as well, a blow that must have hurt terribly given Snape's own confession that he loved her…

And then all that he had done as a Death Eater, all the lives he had taken and those he had been unable to save…

It didn't justify everything, Harry knew. He, too, had been bullied as a child, bullied for ten straight years by the people who were supposed to be taking care of him. He'd been pushed and knocked around by Dudley, ignored and emotionally abused by his aunt and uncle, forced to live underneath the stairs, to endure ridicule and disgust that he did not understand, that he had never really been able to fathom.

And he had not become a Death Eater.

Snape _had_ made the wrong choice at least once.

More than once, in fact, and now Harry was an orphan, a child who had never had a chance to know his parents.

So no, not everything was justified, not everything was completely forgiven…

But…

Snape _was_ a good man.

When he finally allowed himself to think that thought, to accept what he had known subconsciously from the moment Malfoy had first shown him those memories… It was then that he accepted the truth. People made mistakes, something he knew all too well. And after those mistakes were made, they either admitted to their mistakes and tried to make amends, or pretended that they had been in the right, that their actions had not been wrong.

He had made mistakes in the past. And he had done what he could to right the wrongs, to move forward, to make things better.

And when people tried to change…

They deserved that second chance. They deserved a helping hand. They deserved not to have the world turn its back on them.

He looked at Ginny. She was staring at him, trying to read his expression, trying to understand the thoughts that flickered through the depths of his eyes. He smiled at her, though he knew it probably appeared strained.

"Ginny…"

She gave a little sigh. "You're going to go do something ridiculously noble, aren't you?"

When people tried to change…

He nodded grimly. "I have to go after Malfoy."


	30. The Lonely Light of Mourning

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, this chapter makes reference to the plot regarding the Elder Wand. It was mentioned a while ago, in one of the earlier chapters, and I haven't really elaborated on it. So, just a reminder – Snape believed that Runcorn and Yaxley were interested in finding the wand.

Summary: But still… weren't young, dead family members supposed to happen to someone else?

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Lonely Light of Mourning

The silence of the room was painful.

Once upon a time, Percy had enjoyed silence. He was not always able to concentrate in the rush of commotion that often filled the house, and the Gryffindor Common Room had been no better. The library had offered him solitude and silence, and it was there that he could most often be found while he still attended Hogwarts.

But now… now, he did not like the silence.

He knew what it meant. At any other point during the year, he would have been able to hear the voices drifting into his room through the closed door, laughter floating from the living room, chatter from the other bedrooms, or the sounds of cooking wafting with the scent of food from the kitchen. Now… now the silence meant that the others were waiting for him, waiting for him to emerge so that they could figure out what to say, how to make this better.

Didn't they know that they couldn't make it better?

Fred had died, his life ended so quickly, so abruptly, so unfairly, and his lifeless body had topped at Percy's feet like a ragdoll, never to move again. Fred had died, and this was a war, so it was not unexpected. Death touched every family, destroying what it could. But still… weren't young dead family members supposed to happen to someone else?

And now… twice…

That flash of green, that split-second when time slowed down long enough for him to know exactly what would happen, but moved far too quickly for him to stop the inevitable… And Penny's lifeless gaze staring up at the ceiling above them…

He should have been able to protect her.

Light flooded in through the window, but he had lost track of what day it was, or even the time. The light was tinged with orange and red, signs of sunset. Or was it sunrise? Had it just been night? He did not remember. He could think of nothing at all, nothing except those eyes, now forever gazing at a world she could no longer see.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he walked to the door of his bedroom. He knew his mother was most likely still there, unwilling to leave until she saw him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see her, wasn't sure he wanted anything other than to disappear, to curl up into a ball and let the world pass him by. But he felt a sense of responsibility to his mother, a desire to put her mind and rest…

…and to get her to leave him alone.

He pulled open the door.

Sure enough, Mrs. Weasley was sitting on the rickety stairs, staring morosely at the door. She jumped to her feet the moment the door opened, her face reflecting a mixture of emotions – fear, and worry, and love. Still, she hesitated, not rushing towards him as he thought she might. Instead, she just stood there, waiting for him to make the first move.

"You don't need to wait outside my room, Mother," he said stiffly.

She sniffed a little and replied, "Oh, Percy… I just want to check how you are doing."

He could see the circles of color on her cheeks, the puffiness under her eyes, signs that she had been crying. He wondered, vaguely, why had she shed tears? She barely knew Penny, and though his mother was, in general, a caring person, it still seemed odd that she would be moved to tears by the death of someone she had only met a handful of times.

Unless… the thought occurred to him a moment later… unless she was crying for him?

"I am managing, Mother," he answered slowly, because what else could he say? How could he tell her that it felt as though his entire world had fallen apart?

But she shook her head, an uncharacteristically shrewd look in her eyes as she said, "My brothers were both murdered in a war, Percy, and so was…" a pause, just long enough for her to find the courage to say the name, long enough for Percy to prepare himself for hearing it, "Fred. I know… you aren't managing. You couldn't be."

It was strange, that despite everything, he still had the presence of mind to marvel over the fact that his mother actually remembered that he had feelings. How many times had his feelings been disregarded in this house? Too many, and he'd lost track of them.

Then again, was he any better? How many times had he disregarded everyone else's feelings as well?

In a strangled sort of tone, he asked, "How is Ron?"

"He will be fine," she answered, and there was a clear not of relief in her voice. "Your father just Floo'ed to say he'll make a full recovery. Hermione, too."

He knew he should have felt more relief about that – and he was happy that Ron had avoided any lasting damage – but somehow the relief did not come, and he only felt a strange detachment. He nodded slowly, painfully aware that he should say something else, something more.

But he didn't. He _couldn't_. The words seemed stuck in his throat, and nothing at all would set them free.

"Why don't you come downstairs?" Mrs. Weasley continued. "I can make you some soup."

"I'm not hungry," he replied automatically, and he wasn't. The very idea of eating seemed so strange, so foreign to him.

"You should eat something," she pressed, refusing to leave the idea alone despite Percy's obvious reluctance.

He knew it wasn't about the food. She just wanted him to come downstairs, to be with the rest of his family. She didn't want him alone, locked in his old room, unable to turn to anyone for help. But didn't she see… didn't she understand? He could surround himself with millions of witches and wizards and it wouldn't make a difference. It was _his_ Penny who had died, and no matter what, he would feel alone.

"Please, Percy," she asked, and there was a catch in her throat, a plea for him not to turn his back and close the door once more.

But he could not bring himself to answer that plea. "Maybe later, Mother. I am… tired. I'd like to rest." And without waiting for a response, he turned and slipped back into his room, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

And then there was silence again. He listened for the sounds of footsteps on the rickety stairs, but did not hear them, and thought with a weary sigh that apparently his mother had decided to stay by his door, continuing her pointless vigil.

And suddenly he was angry, irrationally furious. There was no target for his anger, no outlet for the rage that boiled rapidly within, burning at the back of his eyes, turning everything around him into a fine mist of shimmering red. It was simply _there_, settling into his bones, wrapping around his heart, infusing itself into every cell of his body.

He did not move, did not reach for his wand, did not make any attempt to unleash this anger on his room. And yet, it escaped anyway, bursting out of him in great waves of uncontrolled wandless magic. The worn carpt at his feet unraveled, the chair near the bed began to wobble back and forth on its uneven legs, the bookshelf gave a sudden shuddering groan as its timbers creaked against each other.

A lamp exploded.

He didn't realize he was crying until he felt the tears dripping from his face, falling onto his robes.

"Percy!"

His mother's voice, near panic, came floating to him through the door. The doorknob rattled, she was trying to get in. But he had locked it and warded it against magical means of unlocking, and try as she might…

The door refused to budge.

"Percy! Please, open the door."

"I'm fine, Mother," he whispered, his voice too low to be heard.

He slid to his knees on the floor. A few books fell of the bookshelf, the covers of his bed somehow ended up on the floor, ripped and torn in places, ruined by his uncontrolled magic. The windows strained against the confines of the walls, pressing outwards.

His head was aching, a dull, throbbing pain. He closed his eyes, but in the darkness he could see Penny, her still form sprawled on the floor, the image etched against the back of his eyelids.

The windows shattered abruptly, exploding outwards, raining tiny shards of glass on the grass far below.

There was a click behind him, and though he knew the door had opened, he did not turn. He felt, rather than saw, his mother kneel at his side, trying her best to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder, and he slowly opened his eyes, looking past her towards the still open door.

George stood there, holding two open safety-pins in his hand, and Percy silently wished his brother had never learned the Muggle art of picking locks.

But he felt no anger at George. It had all drained from his body, disappearing with the shattered windows, and leaving him exhausted and numb.

* * *

Of all the people Narcissa Malfoy imagined could show up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, Harry Potter was not one of them.

She stood there, in the doorway, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her to keep out the chill, her blonde hair cascading in unkempt waves over her shoulders, and stared blankly at Potter.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said politely, his tone a little ironic, "I hope I did not wake you?"

It was so unexpected that it took her a moment to stop gaping and get her confusion back under control. She had been up all night worrying, panicked because of her son's disappearance. Her nerves were frayed, her temper under short control, and now this?

She stepped aside, allowing Potter to enter her home.

"Have you seen Draco?" she asked, because it was the only thing that mattered, and she could think of no other reason that Potter would be here.

"Not since the fight at the Ministry," Potter replied gravely. "Do you have any idea where Yaxley might have taken him?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Back to France?" she suggested with a tired sigh. "Or to his manor here in Britain?" But both of those she had already suggested to the Aurors at the Ministry, and so far they had had no luck. Hannigan, at least in this one instance, she could trust to do his best to find Draco. Because the ambitious, power-hungry wizard knew the price of his failure.

Lucius had made sure of that.

Potter shook his head. "I already visited both," he said grimly. "Is he…?"

He did not finish the question, but Narcissa knew what he was asking. Her pale skin grew even whiter, all blood leaving her face as her eyes widened at the question. But she answered in a steady tone, "No. No, if he was… I would feel it."

Neither had been able to bring themselves to say the word – _dead_ – but it did not matter. And Narcissa knew, perhaps better than most mothers, what it meant to have a son in constant danger. If something had happened to Draco – something irreversible, something permanent – she _would_ know.

Potter's green eyes narrowed slightly at the comment, and he gave a slow nod of reluctant agreement. His expression was conflicted, torn between a variety of emotions she could not decipher. But what she did see, the one thing that she could identify, was determination.

Determination to find her son.

She had no idea what had brought about the change in Potter's opinion of them, nor did she particularly care. If he could help her, she would take his help, because saving what was left of her family was the only thing that really mattered.

Then a thought occurred to her. "Lucius told me once that Severus…" She stopped with an uneasy look at Potter.

He gestured for her to continue. "I know you have been in contact with Snape," he said, and though he had to force the potion Master's name from between clenched teeth, he did not throw any accusation of treason or betrayal at her. There was something in his eyes, something telling her that she could continue the explanation, that he did not care about her friendship with Severus.

She licked her dry lips. "Severus believed Yaxley and Runcorn were after the Elder Wand," she said, her expression contemplative. "That's why they wanted him. Hannigan wanted the Ministry, and Severus had to be brought down for that to happen. But the other two wanted knowledge… knowledge of the location of that wand. They saw the last fight between you and the Dark Lord, they knew that it was that wand that had defeated him… It's power is beyond their wildest dreams."

"And they thought Snape knew where it was?" Potter asked sharply.

Narcissa shrugged. "The Dark Lord is dead, and demanding answers from you would be dangerous. But Severus… he always knew far more than we realized. If he was in Dumbledore's confidence, it is likely that Dumbledore had some idea of what you would do with the wand after it fell into your hands. He might have confided in Severus… to make sure that someone knew where the wand was, someone could guard it if necessary. If it falls into the wrong hands…" Again, she shrugged. "It is just a guess."

Potter considered this in silence, then questioned, "Do you think he would have taken your son to find the wand?"

A fleeting smile of pride passed over Narcissa's lips as she said, "Well, my son was the true honor of the wand, at least for a short while."

"But he isn't now," Potter argued pointedly. "So what help could he be?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes, feeling a little bit annoyed at his lack of knowledge. She supposed she could not blame him for not understanding the finer points of wand-making, but still…

"The wand chooses the wizard, Potter. I am sure you have heard that?" He nodded, and she continued, "Wands form a bond with their witch or wizard. Even when they pass into other hands, they retain some of that bond. Usually not enough to wish to return to the other wizard, but enough that they can still be used by their former master, if necessary."

"So you're saying that Malfoy… uh, Draco… has a bond to that wand?"

"Yes," Narcissa replied firmly. "However tenuous the bond, it is there. If Yaxley had even an approximate idea of where the wand was, he could bring Draco, and…"

"He would be able to help find the wand," Potter finished. There was a silence, and then he said, "Alright. Thank you. I know where to start looking."

She stared at him for a moment, surprised by the easy acceptance in his words. "What?" she asked, a little spitefully. "No accusations? No assumption that this is just some elaborate trap to have you lead me to the Elder Wand? No allegation that I am lying to you?"

Green eyes stared at her, or perhaps through her, leaving her feeling a little cold and uneasy. As the younger wizard looked calmly at her, she could not help but wonder what he saw, and what he thought.

But when he spoke, his words were simple and firm. "You aren't lying."

Again, she felt her curiosity flare. What had brought on this change?

Then again, did she really care? If it brought Draco safely home to her… She'd sent Lucius to a lifetime of torment in an island prison surrounded foul creatures that sucked the happiness out of the very atmosphere. She would not lose Draco, too.

* * *

"There are some who wonder why you are not putting Runcorn on the stand."

Hannigan glanced at Abbot and frowned at the thought of his accomplice. The Dark wizard had been taken to Azkaban immediately upon capture after the fight in the Ministry. But Hannigan had dome everything possible to keep Runcorn from being forced to answer any questions. If the wrong people learned the truth…

Truth potion could easily ruin everything. Runcorn held valuable information in his hands, and if he became suspicious of Hannigan's motives…

It was like a house of cards, and all it would take was one gentle breeze, and everything would come toppling down.

"We have Shacklebolt already," Hannigan said finally. "The Wizengamot will find him guilty. If I put Runcorn on the stand, it will reopen the trial to more questioning. I'd rather this ended now."

"But what of Runcorn's own crimes? When will he be tried for those?" Abbott pressed.

Hannigan pursed his lips. "Soon. But we have just recently lost our Minister of Magic, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and a promising young Healer. Runcorn's trial can wait, we need to focus on rebuilding all that has been broken."

"And Snape?"

"His trial can wait as well. They are both safely locked away in Azkaban, and they are not going anywhere."

* * *

When the Wizengamot finally convened to vote on Kingsley's crimes, the Auror had resigned himself to being found guilty. He did not like the thought of spending his life in that God-forsaken prison, or worse, receiving the Dementor's Kiss. But he was not entirely sure he had any other choice.

As he sat on the stiff, uncomfortable chair, the chains wrapped tightly around his wrists, his eyes moved past the Wizengamot who would decide his fate, past the crowd of revenge-thirsty witches and wizards who had come to witness his sentencing, past a gloating Hannigan, and settled, with some surprise and suspicion, on the woman standing at the back of the room, watching silently.

She met his gaze without blinking, without flinching, and without allowing her expression to waver in any way, to give him even the faintest of clues to why she was there.

His attention was torn from her and brought forcefully back to the problem at hand as Aurora Borealis rose to her feet and began to speak.

"Mr. Hannigan, does the prosecution have any final comments before we deliberate?"

Hannigan smiled, the same triumphant smirk that had graced his features for the past several days, and walked to the center of the courtroom. He gazed out at his audience, pinning them all with his intense state, and, surprisingly, the courtroom fell into silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting with abated breath for his speech.

"You have heard a tale of treason and treachery, of a power-hungry wizard who allowed himself to believe that he was above the law, that he was not beholden to this society. You have heard the testimony of Aurors, of common witches and wizards like yourself, of a Ministry official, and even of Narcissa Malfoy. You have heard the crimes of the accused, and they are despicable to the extreme."

Kingsley reflected silently that it was ironic how Hannigan was preaching to the audience. It was the Wizangamot, and not those seated in the rest of the courtroom, who would be making the decision as to his guilt or innocence. But it was clear that Hannigan already knew what the outcome of that would be – at this point, wasn't it rather obvious? – and he had a different agenda. He needed to convince the public, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he was their savior, that he was the one who could protect them.

It was not a closing argument of a trial. The intended goal was not to have Kingsley found guilty.

It was a campaign speech. The intended goal was to have Hannigan appointed Minister.

It made Kingsley's insides twist with fear and guilt. Fear for the rest of the world, for what would happen to them if Hannigan got his way. And guilt, guilt that he had somehow not been able to stop this, to prevent everything from coming this far, this quickly.

But what could he do now? What power did he have left?

He had tried to stop Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley. He had tried, and he had failed.

"The accused has been in touch with Severus Snape," here a low hiss ran through the courtroom, "one of the vilest traitors this country has ever known." Hannigan paused for dramatic effect, glancing contemptuously at Kingsley, and then continued, "And he has the blood of Amos Diggory and Minerva McGonagall on his hands."

"I do not!" Kingsley burst, unable to contain himself with that accusation.

"Silence," one of the wizards of the Wizangamot snarled. "Or we will silence you."

Kingsley glowered in reply, but made no other attempt to speak, knowing that the wizard had not been lying, and probably would have been all too happy to use a silencing charm if necessary. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman in the back of the room shift her weight and ease forward, slipping slowly through the crowd of standing onlookers.

He felt something, a brush of wind passing by the hem of his robes. Next to him, his counsel suddenly stiffened and leaned forward. "Wait."

All eyes turned towards her, and Hannigan froze, his mouth falling open.

Blanche Trudea rose to her feet with an apologetic smile for the Wizangamot and said, "I have one more witness I would like to call to the stand."

Madam Borealis narrowed her eyes and leaned forward as she answered, "Ms. Trudea, the trial has reached an end. You have already rested your case, and we are not hearing closing arguments. You cannot introduce new evidence at this time."

"The new evidence only came to light at this very moment," was the response.

"This is preposterous," Hannigan blustered, striding forward angrily. Beseechingly, he turned towards the Wizangamot and added, "It a serious miscarriage of justice if we allow…"

Blanche turned towards him coolly and said, "It would be a serious miscarriage of justice to allow an innocent man to go to jail. One more witness is all I ask."

In a low voice, Hannigan hissed, "Blanche, what are you doing? This was not what we agreed upon."

"Agreeing to anything was unethical," Blanche answered in her own quiet voice. "And unless you would like everyone to know just why you arranged for me to be Auror Shacklebolt's counsel, I suggest you allow me to call this one witness." With a smirk, she added adroitly, "If your case is as strong as you think, one witness should not make a difference."

Kingsley watched as Hannigan opened and closed his mouth, looking remarkably like a fish caught out of water. His eyes had widened and his skin had lost come of its color, leaving his pallid and gray. But it appeared that he was far too worried by Blanche's threat to risk not allowing her to call her witness, and he reluctantly turned to the Wizangamot with a half-hearted shrug.

"I have no objections to this," he said slowly, his words laced with annoyance.

Madam Borealis looked unconvinced as she said sharply, "But I do. We cannot reopen a case that has already been tried simply because you have realized so late that you have more evidence you wish to offer." Her words were harsh, but more than that, Kingsley could tell they were affected by the opinions of the public. She saw no reason to allow more questions because she had already made up her mind as to how she was going to vote.

So much for open-minded and honest.

"I am truly sorry," Blanche said, stepping up to the Wizengamot's raised platform, "but the evidence only came just now. And I must offer my client the best representation I can. It would unethical for me not to request this."

Madam Borealis sighed, and gave a slow nod. "Very well," she muttered, displeased. "You may call your witness." The entire trail was a sham, after all, and one more witness would not make a difference.

Would it?

Blanche smiled. "Thank you. Counsel for the Defense would like to call Andromeda Tonks to the stand."

The woman from the back of the room walked forward, catching Kingsley's eye as she did so. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she inclined her head towards him. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, and her soft brown eyes bore an inscrutable expression. The similarities to her sister Bellatrix were obvious, and Kingsley wondered suddenly if she often was faced with problems because of that.

She took the stand and Blanche quickly asked the beginning questions, introducing her to the Wizengamot at the court room.

The change in Blanche's demeanor was so abruptly, so completely out of character, that Kingsley felt his suspicions grow with every passing second. But the idea that came to mind, the only explanation that he could comprehend, was so strange, so daring, so incredibly foolish… that alone made it seem impossible.

"Tell me, Mrs. Tonks," Blanche said, leaning on the railing of the witness box, "has your sister been in contact with Severus Snape?"

"Yes," Andromeda replied.

A ripple of disbelief ran through the room. All eyes on the Wizengamot turned sharply to Andromeda.

"How do you know this?"

"She came to me," Andromeda replied. "She asked for my help. She said she was in trouble, as was her husband and her son. She said that Severus Snape had been staying in a home at one of her husband's properties, and she was worried that they would be discovered."

"Preposterous," Hannigan interjected. "I object to this! It is hearsay…"

Blanche turned quickly to the Wizengamot and said, "It is not hearsay if the witness is repeating what was said directly to her."

Madam Borealis looked reluctant and concerned, but she nodded. "Objection overruled," she said slowly, cautiously. "You may continue, Ms. Trudea."

"Did she say how Snape had avoided discovery for so long?" Blanche pressed, looking back at Andromeda.

"He had a Secret Keeper. Narcissa did not know who the Secret Keeper was, but she had her suspicions."

Blanche turned and looked at Hannigan, meeting his gaze with her own steady smile. "Mrs. Tonks, Narcissa Malfoy testified that she had not ever been in contact with Snape, at least not since the end of the final battle at Hogwarts. Furthermore, she testified _against_ her husband and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Can you explain?"

"Objection!" Hannigan snarled, on his feet once more. "The witness is not an expert in this subject. How can she be asked to explain why her sister did or did not say something?" His face was flushed darkly, filled with anger, his eyes flashing. He took a few threatening steps towards Blanche before stopping and forcing himself back under control. "This entire line of questioning is a sham!"

"She lied," Andromeda snapped before anyone from the Wizengamot could answer Hannigan's objection. "She sat on the stand and she lied because she thought it was the only way to save her son." Eyes flickered to Madam Borealis as she added, "She lied, because Mr. Hannigan asked her to."

There was an instant uproars, cries of anger, shouts of fury and distrust filling the air. The crowd all around them was hurling accusations and insults, stamping their feet on the ground, banging their hands on the railings of the seats and stone walls that surrounded them.

"Order! Order!" Madam Borealis shouted, lifting her voice to be heard above the ruckus. It was a few minutes before the crowd quieted enough for the questioning to continue, but during this entire time, Andromeda had remained quiet and composed, her eyes never leaving Hannigan's pale face.

"That is a serious allegation," one of the elderly wizards on the Wizengamot wheezed, leaning forward to frown at Andromeda.

"I am only repeating what my sister told me when she asked for my help," Andromeda answered calmly.

"And you believed her?" Blanche cut in quckly. Hannigan had lapsed into a shocked silence, as though not able to believe that everything had slipped away from him so quickly, and it was clear that she wanted to take advantage of his momentary speechlessness to proceed as far as possible with her case.

"At first, no. She asked for my help and… I refused." She lowered her gaze, looking a little ashamed to admit to that. "It was a mistake, which I soon realized. She is my sister and…" She paused, gave a half-shrug. "She was trying to protect her son and… and Severus."

Blanche's eyebrows raised. "She was trying to protect a traitor?"

A hush fell over everything, a stillness that blanketed the entire courtroom as every single person waited with abated breath for the answer.

"She was trying to protect Severus. But he wasn't a traitor."

The silence deepened.

"How do you know that?" Blanche asked.

Andromeda paused, then tore her gaze away from Hannigan and stared hard at Blanche. "Because," she said finally, "I know quite a bit about Severus. I was, after all, his Secret Keeper."


	31. Andromeda Tonks nee Black

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Life could turn in a moment, in a flash, and suddenly familiar places and faces would become foreign rooms full of strangers.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Thirty: Andromeda Tonks née Black

It was a little ironic, Harry thought to himself as he clenched his wand tightly and crept through the trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, that he had come back to Hogwarts. It seemed that all things began and ended here.

He could see the distant white tomb holding Dumbledore's body, but Yaxley and and Malfoy were nowhere to be seen. He frowned, fear and concern rising in his chest, but kept moving forward, watching warily for any signs of movement.

Where could they be?

He was not entirely sure why he was here. Part of him wanted to believe that it was because he knew helping Malfoy was the right thing to do. Part of him wanted to believe that he knew people deserved second chances. Part of him wanted to believe that it was because this mess was partially his fault, and therefore partially his responsibility.

The other part of him honestly did not know why he was here.

Runcorn had been left with Hannigan. Hannigan certainly could not free the Dark wizard, not with all the political pressure to have him punished for his crimes. He was implicated in the Headmistress' death, and was most likely looking at a long stay in Azkaban. But even if Hannigan could not free his co-conspirator, he could at least arrange to make sure their secrets stayed secret. Runcorn would not be forced to tell the truth – not the whole truth, anyway. His lies would be shared, his words twisted to support Kingsley's guilt.

And part of Harry wondered why he was not back in London trying to have the truth revealed, trying to prove the Auror's innocence. Wasn't that more important than finding Malfoy and Yaxley?

He caught the sound of words, and stiffened. They floated to him on the wind, broken and unclear as he strained to decipher them.

"…you sense it…"

"…don't know what you want!"

"You lying…"

"…can't help…"

Harry turned and squinted, watching as the figures moved into plain view. Yaxley was striding forward quickly, one hand twisted around Malfoy's arm as he dragged the younger wizard along behind him. He held his wand in his other hand, and jabbed it at Malfoy every few seconds in a threatening gesture.

It was clear they were arguing.

As they drew nearer, Harry heard the bitter fury laced in Yaxley's voice. "I don't care what Hannigan did. I will make you and your mother rot in hell for all eternity if I have to…"

"Then go ahead and kill me," Malfoy said, his tone filled with false bravado. "Because I won't tell you anything!" Though Harry was not close enough to see the blonde wizard's expression, he had no doubt that Malfoy was not actually as unafraid as he wished to appear.

"Fool," Yaxley spat, shaking Malfoy sharply. "You'll talk. Trust me, I will _make_ you talk!"

"I don't even know what you want from me," Malfoy protested, and now they were close enough that Harry could see the fear pass momentarily through Malfoy's pale eyes. He obviously knew just how dangerous Yaxley could be, and did not want to be caught in the other's schemes.

"The Elder Wand. I know it is here, somewhere. Potter took it from the Dark Lord, but he did not leave the school grounds with it. Where did he hide it? _Where_?" There was desperation in Yaxley's voice, as though he realized just how vital it was to find this wand before the Ministry's Aurors found him.

"How would I know?" Malfoy shot back. "How? Do you really think Potter would tell me something like that?"

"You were the master of the wand," Yaxley hissed. "You had a tie to it, and it to you. You can still sense it, you must be able to. _Find it_."

"Why would I help you when your ultimate goal is to destroy my mother?" Malfoy asked.

In the safety of the trees, Harry crept closer, his eyes taking in the scene. He could not attack yet, not with Yaxley standing so close to Malfoy. It would be too dangerous, and if something went wrong, if Harry's attack wasn't perfect, it would give Yaxley time to kill Malfoy.

But if he waited, would he lose any opportunity he had? He could not afford to let Yaxley leave Hogwarts.

"Your mother is a traitor," Yaxley answered coldly. "She betrayed us all, and still you stand at her side. Have you no honor, no pride in your name?"

"I have enough common sense not to give a madman like you a more powerful wand," Malfoy answered.

Yaxley flung Malfoy to the ground in front of him and lifted his wand, his eyes filled with a reckless rage. "Crucio," he snarled, and the jet of light left his wand and hit Malfoy in the chest. The young wizard began to scream, writhing on the ground in pain, and it took all of Harry's will power not to jump out and start hexing right then and there.

But he couldn't, not yet. Not until he was sure he could incapacitate Yaxley in one try.

Yaxley lowered his wand and watched with a cruel smirk, satisfaction burning in his eyes, as Malfoy lay panting on the ground, gasping wearily for breath. "Your mother lied to the Dark Lord. She told him Potter was dead even though the boy still lived. She brought about our Lord's death and let this country turn back to the hands of those weak, pathetic blood traitors. She deserves to suffer for her crimes." He pointed his wand at Malfoy again. "Now, get up and concentrate on the Elder Wand. You _will_ find it for me."

"Why?" Malfoy asked, pulling himself slowly to his hands and knees. "Why do you want it so badly?"

"It is power," Yaxley answered simply. "Hannigan may have Runcorn, but he is a fool if he thinks he can ruin what we have worked so hard to achieve. With the Elder Wand, _I_ will win."

He turned away from Malfoy, his eyes wandering around the ground of Hogwarts as though looking for the wand, hoping to find it simply by sheer force of will, and it was then that Harry saw his opening.

He sprung forward, crying out, "Stupify!"

Yaxley spun around and raised a shield almost instantly, blocking Harry's attack. But his attention was torn away from Malfoy, who used that moment to physically throw himself forward, knocking the Dark wizard to the ground. Yaxley dropped his wand in surprise as he fell, and the two rolled across the grass for a moment, locking in a twisting of limbs.

"Malfoy, move!" Harry ordered, running forward.

Malfoy forcefully pushed himself away from Yaxley at scrambled to his hands and knees, rolling out of the way as Harry fired another stunning spell. The spell hit the unarmed Yaxley in the chest, and he was sent sprawling into unconsciousness.

Malfoy climbed to his feet and let out a slow breath. He and Harry stood there for a moment, just staring at Yaxley in silence.

"Uh… thanks," Malfoy muttered finally.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "This isn't over yet," he reminded Malfoy. "Hold your thanks until after we take down Hannigan as well."

* * *

She had never wanted this.

Bellatrix had wanted fame and power, wanted nothing more and nothing less than to be the Dark Lord's favorite. Her obsession with the Dark Arts had led her to sacrifice everything else in her life, and it has always seemed worthwhile to her because it brought her closer and closer to her ultimate goal. Bellatrix had wanted notoriety, and that was what she had received. Even dead, her infamy lived on.

Narcissa had wanted prestige. She'd wanted the kind of life that was bestowed on so few, a life of ease and pleasure, a life lived entirely in the right social circles, rubbing shoulders with all the right people. She'd wanted fame, but not the kind that Bellatrix had desired. She wanted something softer, more subtle, something where her stunning looks and incredible wealth would be admired and envied. And she'd received that… for a time. It was taken from her, as was much else, although this farce of a trial had the potential to return to her everything she had wanted, and more.

But Andromeda had never wanted this. Never wanted to be in the spotlight, to have every eye trained on her. Never wanted to be the one who held the fate of the world in her hands, the one with all the secret answers to all the burning questions.

And yet, here she was.

She was not scared. Her dislike of the spotlight had never been due to any kind of fear, nor was it due to the assumption that she would somehow fail in whatever task she was given. But she still did not like this, had never liked it.

She was tired of this, of everything. The two wars had taken all that mattered from her. Her parents and sisters had driven her away because of their clashing beliefs, and her husband, daughter, and son-in-law had been torn from her by death. All she had now was Teddy, and though she loved him more than anything else in the world, it did not make up for what she had lost.

Still… she had been content to live in the shadows of her more illustrious sisters, content to stay in the background and live a quiet life. She'd done her part in the war, supporting the Order and allowing her home to be used as a safe-house. But she hadn't fought in any great battles, hadn't gone on any daring missions. And now that it was over, she had wanted nothing more than to fade into the background once more, to be left alone to raise Teddy without the constant interference of the world.

And then Narcissa had shown up at her door, asking for help.

_The aristocratic blonde witch settled herself into the armchair and glanced discreetly around the parlor. Andromeda could not help but wonder if she was comparing it to her own manor, to the fancy decorations of the home Lucius Malfoy had given her. _

_But if there was any critique in her mind, she did not show it. Instead, she turned her gaze back to her the other witch, pale eyes open wide with a frank desperation that Andromeda had rarely seen in her usually composed and serene sister._

_Andromeda glanced quickly towards the door leading into the playroom, watching as Teddy happily stacked several blocks, unaware of the confrontation about to happen in his own home. Then, after convincing herself that Teddy would not be too concerned about any of this, she turned back to her sister._

"_Have you heard about the trail of Kingsley Shacklebolt? And of Severus Snape?" Narcissa asked, getting straight to the point._

_Andromeda stifled an ironic smirk at that question and commented dryly, "I doubt that there is anyone in all of Britain who does not know of this. Why do you ask?"_

"_Then you know it is all a sham."_

_That was not a question, but merely a statement of fact, and Andromeda did not bother answering. She wondered about Narcissa's allegiance, had wondered about it for a long time. It was clear to her that Narcissa had never felt the pull of the Dark Arts quite as forcefully as Bellatrix had, but nor had she tried to stand against them. Yet as Hannigan closed in on Kingsley and Snape, Narcissa must have realized that it was only a matter of time before he came after her and her husband and son as well._

_Finally, she said, "Snape's trial will not be a sham."_

_Narcissa glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "Oh?"_

_Andromeda felt a thrill of something run through her spine at the hint of sarcasm in her sister's tone, at the look in those pale eyes. But she refused to act on that feeling, and instead asked, "What do you want, Narcissa?"_

"_Hannigan has offered my family a deal. If I testify against Lucius, if I arrange to lie on the stand and have my husband sent to Azkaban, he will ensure that nothing happens to Draco and I." Her gaze hardened, her words became strained as she spoke, as though the very act of speaking was taking all her effort. "Lucius would like me to take the deal. I would prefer not to sacrifice him."_

_Andromeda rolled her eyes at her sister. It was rather unbecoming and unsympathetic, given the emotional turmoil evident in Narcissa's eyes, but she could not help it. "And what do you expect me to do about that? I can't make a decision for you."_

"_My son or my husband?" Narcissa snapped, splotches of red appearing on her cheeks. "Do you really care so little for your family that you can speak that cruelly about…"_

"_Do _I_ care so little?" Andromeda asked viciously, her temper flaring. "My husband, daughter, and son-in-law are dead, _murdered_ by the people you and Bellatrix supported. You have spent years pretending I do not exist, and now that you find yourself in a challenging position, you come here and accuse _me_ of not caring?"_

"_You never came to me for help," Narcissa answered simply, giving an elegant shrug._

_Andromeda felt her retort die on her lips as she gave her sister a blank stare. It was true, she had never come to either sister for help. Bellatrix, she knew, would never have helped her anyway, and she did not want to give Narcissa the satisfaction of knowing that she had anything that Andromeda needed. So even in the hardest moments of her life, she had not gone back to the Black family for anything._

"_Would you have cared?" she said finally._

_Narcissa did not answer that question. Instead, she said, "If you do not care about my predicament, then surely you care about Auror Shacklebolt. This trial is all a farce, Hannigan's masterminding it. Don't you want to reveal the truth about him?"_

"_What do you think I can do?" Andromeda asked._

"_Tell the truth."_

"_What truth?"_

_Narcissa hesitated, the indecision obvious in her eyes. Andromeda waited, wishing she could decipher those emotions. Finally, Narcissa sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "What did it take to convince you to join the war, Andie? You wouldn't fight with Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, I know that much. So what was it?"_

"_I didn't join the war," Andromeda answered firmly._

"_Not outright, no. Not the way your daughter and son-in-law did." Narcissa looked away, lowering her gaze for a moment. "But you did help. You did lend your support. On Dumbledore's request, I presume." She seemed to be deciding something, and then, her gaze growing firm, she said, "After all, you were never friends with Severus, so I really don't see any other reason you would have wanted to help him."_

"_How…?" The word was out from between her parted lips before Andromeda could even register what she had said. Triumph flared momentarily in Narcissa's eyes, and Andromeda cringed inwardly, realizing she had given her sister exactly the answer she was looking for, proof that her suspicions had been correct._

"_How did I know?" Narcissa asked coolly, eyes daring Andromeda to contradict the implication in her earlier statement. "It was a guess, and a lucky one at that. But it was the only thing I could think of, the only one that made sense. Severus has a Secret Keeper, obviously, and yet no friends whom he would trust. I know him well enough to know that he would not ever trust his safety to a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw, perhaps, but Slytherin is still more likely. And who among the Slytherins will support him now? Who is left besides my family?"_

"_He did not trust your family enough, though, did he?" Andromeda asked, wondering why she had not denied what Narcissa had said, trying to figure out why she was still having the conversation, saying the words that could be used against her, used as signs of treason._

_Narcissa's eyes flashed, but she did not answer Andromeda's question. Instead, she said softly, "And I know you well enough, Andie, even if you pretend not to know me anymore. The look on your face the moment I showed up at your door… that was enough to give it away."_

"_You know far less than you think, little sister."_

"_Don't patronize me," Narcissa snapped. "I know enough. Why haven't you spoken up yet? Why haven't you told the world that he was only ever acting on Dumbledore's orders? That the old fool had _wanted_ Severus to kill him?"_

"_Severus did not want me to," Andromeda answered calmly, confidently. She still had the upper hand in this conversation, still had the information Narcissa needed. And her sister could not turn her over to the Aurors without first incriminating herself and her son. Which, Andromeda knew perfectly well, was something Narcissa would never do. Slytherins could be conniving and manipulative, and Malfoys and Blacks were perhaps some of the worst culprits of that. Narcissa would move heaven and earth to save her son if need be._

"_He will spend the rest of his life in Azkaban! And that is if he is lucky. More likely, he will have his soul sucked out of him. Don't you think he wants your help?" Narcissa demanded heatedly._

_Andromeda narrowed her eyes as she answered in a glacial tone, "Are you worried about him, Cissy, or yourself? Do you really care what happens to Severus? Isn't this just elaborate plan to discredit Hannigan and therefore save your husband and your son?"_

"_I would like to save them all," Narcissa replied softly. "Will you really refuse to help save Severus just to spite me?"_

_Andromeda licked her dry lips and eyed her sister warily. She had left behind the ideas of blood-purity that her family so vehemently believed in and had forged a new life for herself, married to a Muggleborn, raising a grandson who's father was a werewolf. But though she had given up so much of what her House believed, she had not lost all traits that made her Slytherin. Nor had she lost all traits that made her a Black._

_She still held grudges._

_But then, that was not a trait unique to Slytherins or Blacks._

_There were a lot of things Narcissa did not know, many things her sister could never understand. They had lead two very different lives, lives that stretched out on paths that would have never crossed except for this one issue. Severus._

"_I don't want to be a martyr," Narcissa murmured finally, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't want to be a hero. I just want… I just want my family back together again."_

_In the space that lay between the two sisters, the memories of the past resurfaced, floating in midair, reminding them of all that had been sacrificed. Of bonds broken and lies told and families ripped apart by this war. In the space between them lay the bittersweet regret that came with the realization that they could never go back to the way things had been before._

"_I want my family back together, too," Andromeda said at last. "But that won't happen, will it?"_

The courtroom had been filled with the angry cries of the spectators, the worried murmurings of the Aurors who lined the far walls, and the stunned, incoherent mutterings of the witches and wizards on the Wizengamot. This chaos had all been punctuated by Hannigan's furious screeches, his rage-filled words that demanded the immediate arrest of Andromeda Tonks. But Aurora Borealis had somehow managed to regain order and, unwillingly, rather reluctantly, filled with hesitation, she had allowed the questioning of Andromeda to continue.

Now that Andromeda paused in her narrative, letting her gaze wander from Kingsley Shacklebolt's attorney to the rest of the room, she realized that an unnatural hush had fallen over everyone. They wanted to hear the rest of her tale, not necessarily because they believed it, but because it was _interesting_.

"What happened then?" Ms. Trudea asked, prompting Andromeda to continue.

"I refused to help my sister," Andromeda said slowly, sighing. "I asked her to leave. I told her… I told her I did not want her to come back."

And she didn't. She never wanted to see Narcissa again. Family meant little to her now, given all that had happened. Given that her daughter had been killed by Bellatrix… How could she value a family when that family did not value her?

Except…

Blood was blood. And Black blood was Black blood.

"If Severus Snape is not a traitor, if Kingsley Shacklebolt is innocent, why would you not come forward to protect them?"

"Because, even after all this time, Severus had never once asked me to share his secret. He did not want the world to know and I… I was attempting to respect that. He seemed content with his life, how could I ask him to change it?"

"He is in Azkaban."

"Yes." She bit her lip, let her gaze move sideways towards Kingsley. "He knew what the consequences of his actions could be. He knew there was always a way out, or, at least, a chance to fight, to reclaim some of his life. He never took it, never wanted it."

"He was never so close to the end of his life before."

The ironic chuckle rose in her throat, and her eyes focused sharply ahead at the rest of the courtroom as she answered pointedly, "He was _always_ close to the end of his life while working as a spy in You Know Who's ranks. Haven't you all learned by now what happened to the Death Eaters who betrayed their _Lord_? If he had been discovered…" She stopped, swallowed back the rest of her words, and lowered her gaze down to her own interlocking hands.

She had not wanted to help the potions Master. In the beginning, back during the first war against Voldemort, when Dumbledore had approached her and asked for her help, she'd given it reluctantly, with the hesitation of someone who does not want to follow through on a promise but does not know how to back away. It was not that she did not like or trust Severus – she had not known him well enough to judge him. But she did not want to fight in the war. She did not want to participate in subterfuge and spying. She did not want this task that he was asking her to take.

But that first war had slowly ruined everything good in the world, taking away what she desperately wanted… peace, security, happiness. Eventually, she had been forced to face the truth, that she could no longer pretend this war did not concern her. And so when the Headmaster kept asking, kept arguing with her… she'd finally given in and agreed.

She did not spy, did not fight, did not face the war head-on the way others did. But she saw its consequences all the same. She saw what it did to people on both sides. She saw, and it filled her with disgust.

At some point, she had realized she was a pacifist.

But she was also a Slytherin. She understood the perils of trying to fit into a House that did not believe in the same ideals she supported, and though she had found an escape, a way out of it all, Severus had not. She helped him occasionally, supported him during his first few months of spying, tried to offer something akin to guidance. He did not want her help, and she did not want to waste her time with him, but she had given Dumbledore her word, and she could not go back on that.

And somewhere along the way, Severus had stopped being an unwelcome colleague and started being a… well, perhaps not a _friend_, but she'd started thinking of him as one of _hers_. As someone worth helping, protecting.

"So to respect Snape's wishes, you were willing to let Auror Shacklebolt be found guilty for crimes you are convinced he did not commit?" Ms. Trudea pressed, interrupting her thoughts. "Willing to let your brother-in-law be sent to Azkaban? Willing to turn your back on your sister as though you don't care about her…"

Andromeda frowned. "I _don't_."

"Then why are you here? Why are you testifying?"

Andromeda sighed once more, lifting dark eyes to the lawyer. She resembled Bellatrix, she knew that. The darkness of her hair and the heavy lids around her eyes were mitigated by a softness that Bellatrix had never had, but they did not erase the similarities. It was those similarities that had caused Harry Potter to draw his wand when he first saw her, and it was those similarities that often caused people to do a double-take when they saw her in the streets.

She could not escape her heritage, even now, even after Bellatrix was gone.

"I guess I couldn't quite convince myself that leaving her by herself was the best course of action," she said bitterly. "Blood is thicker than water."

"How can we continue to listen to this drivel? These lunatic ideas, conspiracy theories… Severus Snape is a traitor! We all _know_ that." Hannigan was no longer able to contain his ire at Andromeda's story, and he leapt to his feet, face flushed red, expression apoplectic. "This is a farce, a mockery of our legal system."

"No," Andromeda spat, "the mockery was you. You betrayed everything you supposedly stood for when you convinced Narcissa to lie for you, when you forced her into a deal to sacrifice her husband in exchange for her son."

"You can't prove any of this," Hannigan snarled. But Andromeda could see the fear in his eyes. She knew, just like he did, that it did not take much to bring the world to a halt, to change everything in the blink of an eye. His plan was unraveling before his eyes, hanging together by just a few threads… Life could turn in a moment, in a flash, and suddenly familiar places and faces would become foreign rooms full of strangers.

"No, but truth serum could," Andromeda retorted. "I am sure Auror Shacklebolt will submit to questioning under Veritaserum. Will you?"

"I will not allow you to accuse me! I am not the one on trial, I should not have to provide evidence of my innocence when it is Shacklebolt's crimes that are in question."

"Then take the potion. What do you have to hide?" There was a challenge in her words and a coldness in her eyes. She did not look away from him even as his hand moved towards his wand, as a dangerous aura of power seemed to hover around him. She held his gaze without flinching, and waited.

Though his fingers clenched tightly into a fist around his wand, he was not foolish enough to use it. Instead, he turned a pleading gaze towards the Wizengamot. "Will you allow this outrage to continue?"

Madam Borealis seemed torn, unsure, and Andromeda guessed she knew why. While no one would believe a word she said about Severus without very strong proof to support her claims, Kingsley was a different matter. The Auror was a war hero, after all, and had been very well-respected before all this. He had fallen from grace, but if there was any chance that he was being framed, not investigating that could have serious political ramifications.

Andromeda waited for the reply, holding her breath. Madam Borealis' decision would determine whether or not this had all been a great waste of time.

At last, "Do you have any proof, Mrs. Tonks, besides your words and beliefs?"

Andromeda reached into the folds of her robes and withdraw a small vial containing a silver substance, and almost liquid that swirled underneath the clear glass. "Would a memory of Dumbledore's suffice?"


	32. Those Who Wander

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: The memory of Dumbledore's in this chapter – the one that Andromeda shows in the Pensieve – is taken directly from _The Prince's Tale _in_ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. For that reason, I did not rewrite the entire thing, as I imagine we have all already read it, and don't need to read it again. It will be clear which memory I am speaking of as the characters do summarize and discuss it.

Summary: Because in the end, blood is always thicker than water.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Thirty-One: Those Who Wander

"_Oh… _wow_… do that again, Andie! Do that again!"_

_Andromeda rolled her eyes at her sister's delight. Narcissa was still such a child, and could be quite a nuisance. She'd recently taken to following her sisters everywhere, wanting to join in all the fun. Bellatrix had managed to rid herself of the exasperating tag-along with a few harsh words, but Andromeda could not quite bring herself to treat her sister with such open contempt._

_Still… she _was_ annoying._

_Narcissa was grinning, lips spread wide to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. Her blonde hair was swept back in two pigtails, accentuating the lightness of her eyes. It never ceased to amaze Andromeda that the littlest Black could look so unlike either of her sisters, or really anyone else in the family._

_With a sigh, she looked down at her wand. She had just conjured a burst of lights from her wand, sending them sprawling through the air. It was more to amuse herself than to show off, and, in fact, she had not even been aware that Narcissa was hiding in the shadows near the door, watching her._

_She wasn't supposed to practice magic outside of Hogwarts, of course, but it wasn't like anyone would report her. The Ministry had no way of knowing that she was the one performing the magic, and not one of her parents. Bellatrix didn't care enough to attempt to get her in trouble, neither of her parents ever really bothered paying attention to her, and Narcissa was far too enthralled by the pretty lights to realize that her sister was doing something wrong._

"_Go away, Cissy," Andromeda said heavily, stowing her wand in the pocket buried within the folds of her robes._

"_Can't you do it again? Please?" Narcissa questioned, coming further into the room despite her sister's irritated glare. "Can you show me? Can I try? I won't tell anyone I used your wand, I promise!"_

"_No, Cissy," Andromeda said with a weary sigh. "You can use a wand when you are old enough to go to Hogwarts." She was a teenager, and the last thing she wanted was her kid sister pestering her about cheap magic tricks._

"_But I wanna…"_

"_Yeah, well… you don't always get what you want," Andromeda cut in with a frown._

"_Oh, come on, Andie," Narcissa pressed. "You're only home for a little bit during Christmas break. Can't you show me more magic? Please? Pretty, pretty please?" She was standing in front of her sister now, her eyes wide and begging, her expression filled with absolute adoration for her sister._

Things change. People change. Andromeda knew that now.

They were standing in a small chamber that adjoined the courtroom. Kingsley had been removed from the courtroom, probably taken back to a holding cell to await the final outcome of this meeting. The room held only her, Aurora Borealis, Hannigan, Blanche Trudea, and two other members of the Wizengamot she did not recognize.

They formed a circle around a central table. And set on the table was a silver basin, a Pensieve.

Andromeda stepped forward and uncapped the vial she still held tightly in her hand, tipping it over and letting the silver substance slid into the stone basin. Almost at once, Dumbledore's face appeared, haggard and tired, line of worry etched deeply into his face. His voice filled the room, seeming to echo through the room.

"_Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"_

Andromeda stared at it for a moment, at the swirling features that blended back into the silver, fading from view. Then she lifted her gaze to meet Hannigan's ashen features, and saw something flicker in the depths of his eyes.

Was it fear? She wasn't sure. She held his gaze for a beat, then turned her attention to the others.

"There it is," she said simply. "You may see it for yourself."

There was just the slightest bit of hesitation, and then Madam Borealis, the two other Wizengamot members, and Hannigan all placed their hands on the edge of the Pensieve and leaned forward, allowing themselves to be sucked into the memory.

It was odd, Andromeda thought to herself, watching someone else slip into a memory. Their entire body was first surrounded by the same silvery glow that emanated from the Pensieve, and then they practically dissolved before her eyes, fading into nothing as the glow was pulled back into the basin, taking the onlookers with it.

She was left alone in the room with Ms. Trudea.

The council for the defense looked at her, a vague, unfocused look in her eyes. She seemed confused, unable to quite figure out what she was supposed to be doing. Andromeda felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the other woman, knowing that, had their positions been reversed, she would have been furious to find herself trapped like this.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, too softly for Ms. Trudea to hear. "But there was no other way."

She wasn't entirely sure that that statement was true. There might have been another way, something else she could have done. If only she had come to the decision earlier, if only she hadn't wanted until the last minute to intervene. But, she supposed, there was no point dwelling on what might have been. She could not change the past, no matter how much she may wish to.

She had come too late to think up another plan, and they had been running out of time. She had to intervene then and there, and that meant getting Ms. Trudea on her side, getting her to interrupt the trial before it could reach its conclusion.

Given that the council for the defense was so clearly on the side of the prosecution, she doubted that was anything she could have said or done that would have convinced Ms. Trudea to call her to the stand, except…

She was a Slytherin. That did not change, would never change. She was cunning, she was lax with moral absolutes, she was ambitious and driven, she was…

She turned away, forcing the thoughts back. The Imperius Curse was wrong, she knew that. It could get her sent to Azkaban for life. But she had done what she needed to do, and perhaps using an Unforgivable in a crowded courtroom had been almost foolishly rash – a very Gryffindor thing to do, she thought with a snort – but it had gotten the job done.

She was just lucky that she had been able to send the spell silently, lucky that no one had noticed the sudden rush of cool air, the abrupt unfocused wandering of Ms. Trudea's gaze before the magic of her spell had brought the other woman completely under her control. Although, she had the slightest suspicion that Kingsley had noticed, had figured out what she had done. Not that he would speak up against her, certainly not if she managed to free him from this farce of a trial.

It felt wrong, what she had done. Taking away free will… she, more than anyone else in her family, understood the importance of being able to think for oneself. She understood the consequences, good and bad, that came with refusing to follow someone else, refusing to let the crowd sweep her along, refusing to blend in just because everyone else wanted her to. She had always despised the Imperius Curse because of that, because she knew what it was like to have others trying to make her choices for her.

And, in a moment of fear, she had turned and used that same curse on someone else. And for what?

For a sister who would never again look at her with adoration in her pale eyes.

"_Andie! Andie, stop it!"_

_The words echoed in the hallway, bouncing off the walls and ceiling, reverberating through the air as they surrounded Andromeda. She paused, just long enough to turn back, to give one last contemptuous look over her shoulder, before spinning back towards the door and continuing her purposeful strides forward._

"_Andie!"_

"_What?" she hissed, resigning herself to the argument at hand and slowly turning to face her sister. "Why should I stop? What is there to go back to, Narcissa?" She gestured with one hand towards the room she had just exited. "You heard Mother and Father. I am _dead_ to them." And though she tried her best to keep her pain at bay, her voice shook ever so slightly as she spat out those last words._

_Narcissa took a few hesitant steps forward, light eyes filled with pleading. "Only if you continue to go with that Tonks boy. They don't… they aren't completely… Andie, you could come back if you just…"_

"_Just what?" she asked, her voice low and hoarse. "If I just stop seeing Ted? I _love_ him." She looked away for a moment, then said softly, bitterly, "And he loves me, regardless of what I believe or who I choose to associated myself with."_

_It had not escaped her notice that no one else had followed her into the corridor. Her parents had both been at the family dinner, as had Bellatrix, her uncle Orion and younger cousin Regulus, and her paternal grandfather. Only Narcissa had followed her, only Narcissa had come to ask her to reconsider, to come back to the table._

_No one else in her family wanted to waste their time on trash like her._

"_You should go back, Narcissa," she said at last, her tone cold, her eyes hard as ice. "If you stay out here with me, you might be the next one banished from the family. After all, Mother and Father wouldn't want a daughter that fraternizes with blood-traitor filth."_

_Narcissa flinched, but did not lower her gaze. "Where will you go?" she asked imploringly. "You can't just leave…" She took another few steps, closing the distance between them and grasping Andromeda by the arm. "Is he worth it? Walking out on us? On your family? Is that Mudblood worth…"_

_She wrenched her arm from her sister's grip and answered furiously, "He's worth far more than you or anyone in this family will ever be!"_

_She did not wait for Narcissa to respond. Whipping around, she stormed from the house, letting the door slam shut firmly behind her. The latch magically locked shut as she stood on the stone steps, forever shutting her off from her family._

_And this time, not even Narcissa followed her._

_It was only then, once she was sure that she was alone, that no one would come out to find her, that she let the hot tears pool in her eyes and slowly cascade down her face. She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand and sighed, sniffling a little. Then, blinking through her tears, she walked down the steps and away from her home.

* * *

_

Snape was dreaming.

Sleep came only sparingly, fitfully, upon him, and when it came, it was filled with nightmares. Even in sleep, there was no escape from the influence of the Dementors that inhabited the prison island. Even in sleep, there was nothing to ease the constant ache that settled heavily in his chest.

In his dream, Snape was walking along a dirt path that twisted through a wood. The trees all around him were filled with autumn leaves, bright reds and yellows that lit up the canopy above his head, reminding him of fire, of blood splattered against a yellow sun, of Lily's hair.

Shadows crisscrossed along the trail, creating odd shapes of darkness that occasionally moved with the wind. The smell of mint and sage lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of fresh dew and damp moss.

In his dream, Lily was always just far enough ahead of him that he could not call out to her, could not get her attention. She would disappear around the distant bend, and when he ran to catch her, he'd turn the corner to find her once again fading into the distance. When he stopped to rest, she stopped as well, and her gaze would travel over everything, but somehow never land on him.

He paused for a moment, stopping to catch his breath. The air was warm, the heat of the sun slipping through the leaves of the trees and falling to the ground, golden beams of light that passed through his fingers.

The trees around him began to sway, branches creaking and groaning as they moved. The wind died down, turning first into a gentle breeze and then disappearing altogether, but the trees continued to move, as though they were propelled by some unseen force. The forest around him melted at the edges, becoming soft and gentle, colors seeping into each other.

_He turned and looked behind him, and the forest was gone. Instead, he was staring at the worn down gate with the rusted hinges that squeaked whenever it was opened, at the broken cobblestones on the path that lead through an unkempt lawn dotted with the dark green of leaves, and the unwelcome house that rose before him, blotting out the sun._

He look back towards the path, but it was gone, having somehow faded away, taking Lily with it.

His dreams were never pleasant, not with soulless creatures sucking the happiness from his heart and mind. Even in his dream, he could still hear the faint trickle of water condensing on the stone walls of his cell and dripping down to the cold floor. Even in his dream, he could smell the mildew and stale air that he had breathed since the beginning of his incarceration.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years? Decades?

Did it really matter anymore?

_A figure moved slowly along the path before him, picking its way through cobblestones and fragments of broken bricks, until it came close enough for Snape to see the dark eyes surrounded by heavy lids and the cascade of brown hair that tumbled over the black robes._

"Andromeda," he murmured, as though somehow she could hear him, even though this was nothing more than a dream.

_The sun had stopped shining. It was then that he realized there was no sun, that it was not daytime at all. The faint glimmer of moonlight reflected off the distant river and the sky overhead was heavy with gray clouds._

_The door to the house – his house – opened, and a wizard stepped out._

"I see the old fool is as meddlesome as always," Snape whispered under his breath, the words echoing in the stillness, an indication of what was to come.

_A moment passed as Andromeda paused and looked at the man who had emerged from the house. His cloak was pulled tightly around his thin frame and his hood was up, concealing his features from view. But the voice that issued from him was silky and smooth and unmistakable._

"_Ms. Tonks. I see the old fool is as meddlesome as always." The hood fell away, revealing a younger Snape. The black eyes were filled with unfathomable emotion, and something flickered through the closed expression, something that would have been indecipherable to the average onlooker._

But Snape – the older one – was not an average onlooker. He knew this memory, had often found it emblazoned in his mind eve when he tried to forget. But how could he forget? After all this time, after everything he had done, it was still willingly walking back into the Dark Lord's ranks that he would forever remember.

"_How did it go?" Andromeda asked at last._

_The younger Snape sneered as he answered, "I walked into the lion's den and came out alive. Did Dumbledore tell you to check on me? How touching. Will he send someone else to my funeral in his place as well?"_

"_I came of my own accord," Andromeda answered, her tone sharp, her words clipped at the ends. "Albus only told me recently of all that had happened and I…" She paused, seeming for a moment to be just a little lost. With a heavy sigh, she finished, "I came of my own accord, but I have no doubt that the Headmaster would have asked me to, had I not offered."_

The older Snape, the real one, turned away from the memory and stared at the ramshackle remnants of his childhood town. Andromeda had come to him only hours after he had entered the presence of the Dark Lord once more, intent on regaining favor in the powerful wizard's eyes. He had not seen her, not interacted with her, not since the first defeat of the Dark Lord at the hands of young Harry Potter. And now that the Dark Lord had risen, now that he was forced back into that inner circle…

Now she wanted to see him.

He was no fool, he knew her true motives.

At that thought, he whispered harshly, "Ask her yourself if you want to know so badly."

_His younger counterpart turned away from Andromeda and said bitterly, "Indeed. Well, the Dark Lord has his followers back now, each of them pledged to his service once more. Either loyalty or fear. He has risen in his entirety, and Fudge is blind enough to not see it for the truth it is."_

"_Did Lucius…?" she started._

"_Yes," he answered, his word emphatic, stressed and stretched into a low hiss. There was a pause, then he added, "Ask her yourself if you want to know how she is doing so badly."_

_Her eyes flashed, a warning, a sign of a short temper. "That wasn't the only reason I came," she snapped, stepping closer to him. She came close enough to see the faint outlines of pain in his face, the weariness of his stooped shoulders. Her lips pursed, her gaze softened. "He was not pleased." _

_It was not a question._

_Snape answered it all the same._

"_The Dark Lord is rarely pleased. And certainly not with what he might view as a betrayal." He inhaled slowly, turned his gaze back to the dark-haired witch._

"_You convinced him you were still on his side?" she asked, and he snorted at the question._

"_Obviously. Or he would not have let me live."_

The elder Snape watched the scene for a moment longer, then blinked once and wondered vaguely when he would wake up. This was certainly not a fond memory, not something he wished to dwell on, but neither was it quite as bad as the nightmares that usually plagued his sleep. There was no torment, no raw pain to tear his soul apart even as he tried to rest, to drive him near to tears as he awoke back into the gloom of his cell.

He wondered, for a moment, how Andromeda was faring. Had the Aurors arrested Narcissa yet, or had Shacklebolt managed to keep her out of trouble? He knew nothing of the outside world, knew nothing about anything that had happened since Minerva's death.

His gut wrenched at the thought of the transfiguration Mistress' untimely demise, but he forced away the memory and let himself be pulled back into the one unfolding before him.

Andromeda, he knew, cared far more for Narcissa than she would ever admit. It was why she had agreed to help him, to be his only confidant in this mess. Because, though she would never again speak to her sister, through him she could receive updates as to how Narcissa was doing. It was, in fact, the main reason she had come to him that day – to ask if Lucius Malfoy had still answered the Dark Lord's call.

When Snape had confirmed this, he had seen the flicker of fear in her eyes, and known that the was terrified.

_The memory was fading, blurring, disappearing. It melted away as Andromeda followed the younger Snape inside, staying close enough to him to silently judge his injuries, and far enough away to at least not be too blatant about what she was doing. They would talk, and he would drew a healing potion, and she would later report it all to Dumbledore with the weariness of someone who knows a war is starting again and can do nothing but stand helplessly by the side and watch the inevitable losses that it would bring._

He was on the path again, the soft dirt under his feet, the slivers of bright sunlight and blue sky just barely showing through the canopy of leaves overhead. He heard Lily's laughter and turned instinctively towards it, the edges of his face softening slightly as he saw her. She was walking up ahead, and the light fell on her hair, making it shimmer and glow.

She looked past him, or through him, her green eyes seeming to focus on something beyond him, something he could not see. But as he stared at her eyes, he swallowed uneasily, suddenly seeing Harry Potter reflected in those emerald depths. The boy who haunted him, always, whose very presence has only served to remind him of what he had lost, of the fact that Lily had chosen James Potter.

Lily's smile widened then, and Snape turned, wondering what she saw. His stomach clenched, twisting sharply, as James Potter himself seemed to emerge from the very air, brown eyes lighting up at the sight of the redhead. Potter walked past him, ignoring Snape, ignoring everything around him except Lily.

Snape watched in bitter silence as the two came together, Potter wrapping his arm around Lily, letting it drape over her shoulders in a careless manner. She leaned against him, and the two seemed to fit together, their bodies melding at the edges, melting into each other. Her red hair fell only his shoulder, he played with it idly, letting it slip through his fingers, twisting it in the palm of his hand.

Snape clenched his hands into sharp fists as he suddenly remembered that last year at Hogwarts. Lily and Potter had finally started dating, and Potter was always touching her. His arm had always been around her waist or his hand always resting lightly on the crook of her elbow. It had never been possessive, but it had always been done with a carelessness, as though there was nothing odd in it, in the way they interacted. As though they were really one person, instead of two separate entities.

As he watched Potter and Lily, a memory drifted through his mind, words his father had thrown at him, bitter and cold and slurred with alcohol and a lack of sleep.

"_You think you're gonna' amount to somethin'? Life ain't for people like you. Stop wishin' for it, boy, 'cause we don't get happily-ever-afters. That's only in the fairy tales."_

His mother had promised him that he could have the entire world. The sun, the moon, the stars. Anything he wanted, she had told him he could obtain. He had believed her then, but he didn't now. Now, he knew better. Now, he did not want the world, the sun and moon and stars.

Now, all he wanted was Lily.

He stared at her, and she stared up at Potter, and the sun came pouring down through the tree branches, illuminating the path, pushing back the shadows of his dream and revealing all the things he did not want to confront.

Sleep came only sparingly, fitfully, upon him, and when it came, it was filled with nightmares.

* * *

When the others came out of the memory, Andromeda stared hard at their faces. She waited for Hannigan's denouncement, waited for the others to mutter their suspicions and accusations. She had expected something, some kind of anger, some sort of refusal to believe.

She did not expect to see such stunned silence.

Hannigan sank heavily into one of the chairs, his skin ashen and pale. It was then that Andromeda realized with a start that Hannigan had not actually known the truth about Snape. Runcorn and Yaxley, both of whom must have had at least a few well-founded suspicions about Snape's true loyalties, had not revealed any of it to Hannigan. The power-hungry wizard knew he was framing Kingsley, but had not even begun to consider the possibility that Snape was innocent as well.

"That… Dumbledore…" Madam Borealis was breathless, her eyes round with uncomprehendingly surprise. "He asked Snape to kill him? To… to save…"

"To save Draco Malfoy from becoming a murderer," Andromeda said firmly, in a clipped tone. She watched the others reacted, watched with detached amusement as they all tried to wrap their minds around the fact that Dumbledore had chosen this end.

"I don't… that's not…" Hannigan whispered, his words halted, choked.

"And to help Severus obtain his position as the Dark Lord's most trusted follower," Andromeda continued smoothly. "You saw the memory. Dumbledore was already dying from a curse, one that no one could stop. He had only a year, and he knew that he had to set everything in place. He had to ensure that his school and his students were protected." She paused, waited until all eyes were on her, then said pointedly, "And he asked Severus to help him because he knew Severus could be trusted."

He'd asked her for help as well, and she remembered _that_ conversation as though it were just yesterday.

"_He is reluctant."_

_The words were such an understatement that Andromeda almost laughed at the irony of them. Despite his brilliance, despite his power, despite his incredible understanding of human nature, the Headmaster could sometimes be so oblivious to what was right before him._

_Reluctant was hardly the right word. Horrified might be a better description._

_She sat down in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk and said simply, "Are you surprised? You are asking him to murder you."_

"_No, I am asking him to help me end my life on my terms, and not on someone else's," Dumbledore replied, long fingers interlaced before him, blue eyes razor sharp, piercing her._

"_Semantics," she retorted._

"_He has agreed to help me," he continued as though she had not spoken, "but I am worried he may change his mind. He is not pleased with this plan, does not see that there really is no other way."_

"_And let me guess," she said softly, almost drawling, "you want me to convince him?"_

"_You offered him moral support during the first war," the Headmaster said with a shrug, "and are doing it again now. He has no one else besides myself, and I must confess that my opinion is hardly enough to convince him. Not now, not anymore. You've helped him, you know."_

_She doubted that Dumbledore was no longer as important to the potions Master, for Severus, despite his prickly exterior and cold demeanor, still cared greatly for the Headmaster, and respected him far more than anyone else in his life. But she did not voice that sentiment, and instead frowned and lowered her gaze._

_She was torn._

_But, though Dumbledore did not always understand his invaluable spy, it seemed as though he _always_ understood her. And always knew the right thing to say, always knew how to manipulate her._

"_She loves her son," he said softly. "More, I think, than even I ever realized. She defied Voldemort and went to Severus for help… that shows just how brave she was… and how desperate."_

_Andromeda did not answer, but she could so easily picture Narcissa's face, skin pale, light eyes widening with horror as she learned what the Dark Lord had intended for her son. Andromeda had never pictured Narcissa as a mother, was never able to appreciate just how much she was willing to do for her family. But she knew now… If Draco died, it would destroy Narcissa._

_And, despite everything, Andromeda still could not stand idly by and let that happen._

_She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "I'll speak to Severus."_

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ms. Trudea shifting slowly in her seat, the fog in her eyes shifting only slightly. The spell holding her in control was wearing thin, and Andromeda's focus was wavering as well. The council for the defense was able to fight back, at least somewhat, though she had yet to break through the hold.

Andromeda sighed and let her gaze sweep back across the others, observing silently as they struggled to deal with what they had witnessed, what they had learned.

It wasn't about Severus. She knew that now, although perhaps she had known it all along. She was no fool, she knew exactly why the Headmaster had picked her for the task of helping his spy. Her shared characteristics with the potions Master were a benefit, but even more than that, it was her own desperation, her need to somehow protect her younger sister from an unforgiving world that made her ideal for the task. Not because she was somehow more suited to the job, but because her link with Severus was her only way of keeping tabs on the health and wellbeing of her sister, and Dumbledore knew that.

And would quite easily manipulate her with it.

She had never verbalized it, and probably never would, never allow those feelings to have words. She could not admit to others that her split with her family had been difficult, that she had many times longed to return and beg forgiveness, if only to once again be with them.

Pride had kept her from doing it, pride and her love for Ted.

But Ted was dead now, and Narcissa… Cissy… the only one who had ever called her Andie, the only one who continued to use that nickname even though so much had passed between them and they were strangers now… Narcissa was still alive.

And in trouble.

It was not about Severus, it was not about the Headmaster, it was not about Harry Potter. It was not about doing the right thing, staying on the right side of the war. It was not about helping to overthrow the most dangerous wizard the world had ever seen.

It was not that she did not care for Severus, because she did. Likewise, she cared a great deal for the world, for all of society. She knew right from wrong, she knew which side of this war she had to be on. She knew a great deal about all the subtle shades of gray in life, and she knew that sometimes things really were black and white, and sometimes there really was an obvious right path, and a just as obvious wrong one.

It was about Narcissa Malfoy née Black.

Because, in the end, blood was always thicker than water.


	33. Loose Ends

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Hannigan's luck finally fails, Hermione receives a surprise visit, and Percy deals with his grief.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Thirty-Two: Loose Threads

When Harry and Malfoy finally burst into the room, an unconscious Yaxley in tow, their very presence seemed to set everything spiraling into chaos.

Hannigan was still stammering incoherently about the memory he had seen, and Madam Borealis was carefully considering the Pensieve before her, her expression contemplative and concerned. Andromeda kept her gaze on Ms. Trudea, watching the council for defense carefully, wondering how long it would be before her spell wore off completely. The other two Wizengamot members were whispering to each other, their voices hushed, but quick, obviously excited by all this.

And then the door was slammed open and the three wizards came toppling through. Harry was breathless, his bright green eyes scanning the room frantically, while Malfoy seemed a little more reserved. But the tension surrounding them was evident, and it spread outwards, filling the room.

And then Hannigan was on his feet a moment later, his gaze fixed on the unconscious Yaxley, his hands shaking as fingers curled around his wand.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Borealis said swiftly, nodding to him, "what is the meaning of this disruption?" Like everyone else in the world, she respected Harry, might have come close to worshiping him. But her sense of decorum made her ill-pleased by his abrupt appearance, and she narrowed her eyes briefly, chin lifted as she waited for his answer.

Harry nodded to Yaxley as he said, "I have proof. Proof that Kingsley is innocent. That Hannigan is behind all of this. Everything. McGonagall's death, and even Penelope's… it's _all_ his fault."

"Liar!" Hannigan hissed, face draining of all color. His words were harsh, and filled with anger that only barely concealed the fear. "How dare you? You can't just come bursting in here and throw around accusations like that…"

He stopped then, ashen face falling slightly as he realized who he was addressing. His gaze seemed to falter, and he slanted a quick look at the three Wizengamot members. They were all staring at him with open mouths because no one… _no one_… spoke that way to Harry Potter.

It only took a moment for him to recover, however, and he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I should not have lashed out at you like that. But it has been a trying day… and my temper is not always under control." He smiled tentatively, as the others in the room relaxed slightly, though Harry continued to glare at him. He continued with a disarming tone, "Shacklebolt must have Confounded him. Quite a good job on the spell, I see. Well, it wouldn't have been hard, given the amount of time the ex-Auror spent with him."

"I am _not_ under a spell!" Harry snapped. "Kingsley's done nothing to me. Nothing at all! You are the one who…"

"Mr. Potter, please!" Madam Borealis cut in as Harry's voice rose in volume. She looked scandalized by the turn of events, and sent a distasteful look towards Yaxley, who was still lying unconscious on the floor. "This is most improper!"

"Improper?" Harry seethed. "This entire trial has been _improper_!"

"Potter, shut up," Malfoy muttered, rolling his eyes slightly, although he seemed rather impressed by Harry's anger. "Yelling isn't really helping anything."

Andromeda stifled a smile at her nephew's words. Silently, she regarded him with an scrutinizing stare. He looked so much like his father, but she thought she could see bits of Narcissa in his expression, in the way he moved his head, in the smugness of his gaze.

Aloud, she said, "Perhaps it would be best to resume the trial?" All eyes turned towards her, and she saw Harry start, surprised by her presence. Inclining her head to Madam Borealis, she added, "Your decision, of course. But it seems the best way to solve the matter."

"I think it should be handled quietly and quickly," Hannigan argued immediately after her suggestion. "I see no reason to worry the public with as of yet unproven and ill-founded accusations." He lowered his voice and added, "It would not do well for morale if people saw how Harry Potter had been manipulated by a criminal. In these difficult times, do we want to add to their burden?"

"I have not been manipulated!" Harry paused, his hard glare intensifying, then tore his gaze from Hannigan and looked down at Yaxley. "Fine, let's do it secretly. Give him a truth potion and see what he has to say. When he implicates Hannigan, then we can continue the trial."

"Mr. Potter," one of the Wizengamot members spoke up delicately, "do you realize the… severity… of these accusations?"

Harry nodded. "I do," he said, his tone firm, uncompromising.

"If everything you say is true," Hannigan said, his eyes flickering back and forth between Malfoy and Andromeda, "then Narcissa Malfoy has committed a grave crime by lying to this court and allowing her husband to be sent to Azkaban."

This time, it was Andromeda who replied, her words laced with ironic humor, "Narcissa? She did what she did because you forced her to. You practically blackmailed her into it. You were so desperate to make sure that Lucius Malfoy went away for life…"

"My mother is guilty of nothing but trying to survive in this world that hates her," Malfoy interrupted, pale eyes glittering with fury. His anger was directed at Hannigan, though his words seemed to include everyone else in the room. "You want to ruin her, want to use her as a scapegoat for everything that goes wrong in your life. It is not her fault."

"Your mother," Hannigan retorted, "is a cold-hearted, arrogant snob. Don't act like you are all innocent victims in this. You and your father were both Death Eaters, and your mother was hardly any better. You murdered people, and tortured them."

"And here I thought Narcissa and Draco were both saints who had seen the light and come to the right side," Andromeda interjected. "Isn't that what you declared when you had Cissy set up her husband? Changing your tune, are you?"

Hannigan flushed, unable to reply to the pointed truth in her words.

But Malfoy seemed much more disturbed by the other bit of information that was continually tossed around by the others. "What do you mean? What did my mother do? Where is my father?"

It was Madam Borealis who answered. "Lucius Malfoy has been arrested by the Aurors and taken to Azkaban where he will await trial for his crimes. Your mother, Mr. Malfoy, was the witness who testified against him." Her voice was soft, as though she was trying to be gentle, to lessen the blow of her words.

It did little good. Malfoy just stared at her, his expression horrified.

"That's not… my mother would never… no. No, you're wrong. You _must_ be."

For a moment, there was a complete silence. Then Harry said, "If Hannigan is behind that, too, then shouldn't we be arresting him?" He looked over at Andromeda and asked, "Isn't that what you said? That Hannigan forced her to do it?"

"I still don't… no, that doesn't… make sense…" Malfoy stammered, unable to fully comprehend what he had been told. His blank stare wavered, then moved between Hannigan and Andromeda. Finally, he said, "It can't be right. It does not matter what Hannigan threatened. My mother would _never_ sacrifice my father to save her own life."

To which Andromeda replied, "It was not _her_ life she was trying to save," and watched as the implication of that statement hit Malfoy fully, and he took a step back as guilt and shock flickered in his expression.

Blanche Trudea shifted, and Andromeda knew it was only a matter of minutes before the Imperius Curse wore off. She frowned, but knew there was little she could do at the moment. She had risked setting it before, in the crowded courtroom, because no one was paying her any attention. But here? It was too dangerous, someone would notice.

But if it wore off… she could get in quite a bit of trouble for using an Unforgivable. She needed a distraction, something to hold the others' attention, if even for a second…

"Shouldn't we focus out attention back on the trial?" she asked pointedly.

"This is not your call," Hannigan hissed. "You are not on the Wizengamot and you are not council for the defense or prosecution. You are a witness. Stop trying to make things work _your_ way."

She answered coolly, "I would just like to see justice served. Surely you have no objection to that?" And there was little Hannigan could say or do to stop the inevitable.

Which was why, only a moment later, they were all watching in silence as Yaxley, under the influence of a truth potion, was asked the first question.

"Who killed Minerva McGonagall?"

Yaxley's eyelids flickered open, and he stared unseeingly at the room around him. "I did."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Andromeda shift her wand slightly, her lips forming a silent word. He did not see where the spell went, or for whom it was intended, and no one else seemed to notice. He stored it away for further thought, and turned his attention back to Yaxley as a ripple of surprise and shock ran through the room.

"What? _Why_?"

His emotionless voice sounded eerie in the silence as he recounted the events. "It was meant for Snape. She pushed him out of the way, saved him. The spell accidentally hit her instead. Killed her. But her death was never really part of the plan. We were only trying to get Snape. And Hannigan wanted the Ministry, so we had to get Shacklebolt out of the way…"

Andromeda sighed in relief as he spoke, as Ms. Trudea's eyes unfocused once more as she was pulled back underneath the spell, as the others listened with abated breath to the tale that was being told.

* * *

The sentencing for Kingsley was postponed. Hannigan was sent to Azkaban to await his own trial, but Harry did not linger to find out anything else. Suddenly the idea of facing the relentless questions that were sure to be asked, of having to recount in vivid detail everything that had happened, seemed too much to bear.

He stared moodily at the window in the Burrow, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky. Hermione had been released from St. Mungo's, and sat next to him on the sofa. Ron was supposed to be released later in the day, and she was clearly anxious to see him, to assure herself that he would be alright.

"How's Percy?" Hermione asked finally, her question directed towards Ginny, who was perched on another chair.

The redhead frowned, glancing towards the stairs. "I don't know," she admitted, chewing her bottom lip. "He hasn't been… talkative. Mum keeps trying to get him to come downstairs, but he doesn't want to. At least his door isn't locked anymore. And at least he's stopped destroying the stuff in his room. I wish… I wish I could do something… help him…" She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"He loved her," Harry said, and although he knew he was stating something that had probably been blatantly obvious to everyone else, he still found it odd. He'd never really thought of Percy as the type to fall in love, but there was no denying how deeply the studious and bookish Weasley had cared for his girlfriend.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. She, too, looked at the stairs, and then looked quickly away. As though afraid that the very act of looking in that direction might somehow harm Percy more.

"We've all lost people," Harry said, his thoughts wandering first to Sirius, then his parents, and finally to Fred. "This war… Voldemort… He took so much."

War, he had come to realize, was far more about surviving what came afterwards than anyone wanted to admit. People talked about heroic actions, about self-sacrificing witches and wizards who had laid down their own lives to do what was right, to protect the ones they loved. His mother had done it, and he would have done it, had even thought he was doing it, when he'd allowed Voldemort to kill him. But after all that was over, when the war had been fought and won, there was always a price. Always a cost. And in the end, the hardest part was not fighting the war.

It was surviving the aftermath.

Like Ginny, he wished he could offer some kind of comfort for Percy. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one, knew that there were no words that could truly heal the scar that would permanently rest over Percy's heart. But life went on, the world kept turning, and that was the hardest part of it all.

"Is it over?" Ginny asked wearily.

"I doubt it," Harry confided, knowing he sounded pessimistic. "Hannigan will do his best to get out of this, although I don't see how he can. But even so, there's still the others to worry about. Abbott – I don't know what will happen to him. He didn't purposefully try to harm anyone, but he did a lot of damage. And the Malfoys. Malfoy's dad is still in Azkaban, and now that the Wizengamot knows that Narcissa Malfoy lied to them, she could be in trouble too…" Harry gave a shrug. "A lot of loose ends to tie up. And we still don't have a Minister of Magic or a Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"What about Kingsley?" Ginny pressed. "Why haven't they released him yet?"

"Because he did knowingly work with Snape," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "Back when everyone still thought Snape was a traitor… I don't think the Wizengamot knows quite what to do about that. I'm petitioning for him to be released, but… it might take a little bit longer."

"And Snape?" Hermione asked.

Harry felt his insides clench, and he forced himself to relax, to breath normally. "I don't know," he answered.

There was a moment of tense silence, then Hermione said, "Well, at least they know the truth about Hannigan now. He almost succeeded, you know."

Harry nodded, and they lapsed into silence.

* * *

Of all the people Hermione ever expected to come looking for her, Draco Malfoy was perhaps the least likely. But there was no denying that it was him standing there, gray eyes staring frankly at her as she opened the door to her flat.

"How's Weasley?" he asked as he stepped around her and let himself into the room, not waiting for an invitation.

"Ron will be out of the hospital soon," Hermione answered, frowning at him as she closed the door firmly behind her. "If you're looking for Harry, though, he's not here. He's still at the Burrow."

Malfoy shook his head. "If I was looking for him," he replied with the slightest bit of mocking in his tone, "I would have gone there. Trust me, I never expected him to be here. Not when he could be spending _quality time_ with the youngest Weasel."

Hermione rolled her eyes, frustrated. Ron should have been released from the hospital by now, but his injuries were taking longer to heal than the Healer had expected, and it was beginning to worry Hermione. Ginny had assured her that this was normal – often Healers could not see the full extent of the spell's damage until the body had started the healing process – but that knowledge did little to comfort Hermione.

Particularly when Ginny herself was quite worried, despite her own words.

She had returned to her own home to gather some clothing and other necessary items for staying at the Burrow. She had not really been home since the beginning of this entire mess, but she did not want to be away from Ron and Harry for all that long, so she had opted to take up Mrs. Weasley's offer to stay at the Burrow for a few days.

"What is Potter doing about Snape?" Malfoy demanded.

Hermione blinked at him, surprised. "What?" she asked blankly, not understanding the question. "What do you mean?"

"What is he doing about Snape?" Malfoy asked impatiently, glancing around the room with a nervous gesture, as though he was afraid someone would jump out of the woodwork and attack him. "Hannigan has gone to jail, and Shacklebolt will probably be released soon… Merlin only knows what will happen to my parents and I, but what is Potter doing about Snape?"

Hermione sighed, finally comprehending the point of Malfoy's questions. "At the moment, he's waiting. We're all waiting. There is too much chaos to be able to do anything productive."

"Waiting?" Malfoy sneered. "Potter's got the influence, and the ear of all the right people. He could get this sorted, and he's just going to _wait_?"

Hermione instinctively stiffened at the accusations being implied, but then she took a breath and forced herself to stay calm. In a tightly controlled voice, she replied, "Rushing into something without a plan is a good way to ruin everything. You want Snape released? Then you're just going to have to wait."

Malfoy snorted. "Right. That's a good plan. See if you can't just get Snape to go insane in Azkaban. Then who cares if you clear his name or not, he's still gone." He turned away from her and started pacing, his steps quick and loud, filled with anger.

It was then that she wondered why he had come to her, and not gone to Harry with these concerns. She hesitated before asking the question, not really wanting to get drawn into a conversation. But she doubted her silence would be enough to get Malfoy to leave, given that he had entered without her permission in the first place, so at last she asked bluntly, "Why are you telling me this? Why not Harry?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter doesn't listen," he replied sharply. "Not to reason, and not to other people's opinions."

"That's not true," Hermione snapped. It had been true, once. Particularly during their fifth year at Hogwarts, but also at other points while they attended school, Harry had been known for disregarding all the advice of his friends and the people who were just trying to look out for him, and acting instead on his own whims. Times had changed, and though mentions of Snape still brought out the worst in her friend, Harry _was_ different.

And even his opinion of Snape had changed over the past few days.

"You have common sense," Malfoy continued, and it was not flattery or anything of that sort. He was apparently just stating what he believed to be perfectly true, and he had turned back to her with a pointed stare. "You can talk to him. Make sure he doesn't just conveniently… _forget_… about Snape."

"He won't," Hermione insisted.

Malfoy glanced at the windows, his expression unreadable.

"What are you so worried about?" Hermione demanded. "You keep looking around like you expect to be attacked. Like you're in danger."

He stared at her for a moment, completely silent, and then said, "What makes you think I'm not?"

She started, and then asked, "Who is after you? Runcorn and Yaxley are both in custody, and so is Hannigan."

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Did Potter not tell you anything of what happened?" he questioned mockingly, tauntingly. Then his voice took on a stronger tone, one layered with distaste and dripping with acid, and he continued, "Use your head, Granger, I _know_ you have at least a semi-functioning brain. Andromeda Tonks revealed the truth about Hannigan and Snape, yes. But that meant revealing that my mother had lied to the court… and to the Aurors… on more than one occasion. How long do you think it will be before she's arrested? Before they come after me?"

He spun on his heel and stalked away from her, towards the nearest window. He gazed out into the sky, his back to her, tension obvious in the lines of his body.

And everything seemed to fall into place for Hermione. Malfoy assumed that he had only a limited amount of time, and he wanted to make sure that Snape would be released. She'd heard enough of the story from Harry to know that Malfoy had been the one to lead Harry to Snape, and, consequently, he had played a large role in having Snape sent to prison. It had been to save his family, but now that it was obvious that his family was past saving, he was trying to undo what he had done, to right the wrong before it was to late.

And he had come to her because he doubted Harry would listen to him.

She sighed and looked away from him, unsure of what to do.

"Yaxley and Runcorn wanted my parents to suffer," Malfoy said softly, so softly that for a moment Hermione wasn't entirely sure if she had actually heard him, or if it had been her own imagination. But then he continued, his back still to her, his voice a little louder, "Hannigan must have promised them that, but then he went back on his promise. Protected my mother and I, for a time. And sent Runcorn to Azkaban when it suited him."

"Hannigan betrayed them," Hermione answered simply.

He turned and looked at her, then said, "When Yaxley was being questioned, he admitted that Hannigan hadn't wanted the Headmistress to get hurt. Or for anything to happen to Potter, you, and the Weasel. Those were all accidents, everything that happened. You three weren't supposed to get involved, that's not what Hannigan wanted."

"So?"

"So then why did Yaxley and Runcorn send you the clue, slipping it into your pocket? Why did they send a warning – a temptation – to McGonagall?" Malfoy asked. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then found she had no response, and Malfoy pressed on, "They sent you to look for me. That's why Potter first got involved, first came storming to me, demanding answers, wanting to know all my secrets. And they did the same to the Headmistress." He shook his head and sighed. "Runcorn and Yaxley always had every intention of dragging all of you into this. They wanted you all dead, all out of the way, because you still has the power to stop them. They lied to Hannigan, just like Hannigan lied to them."

Hermione accepted that silent agreement. Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley might have succeeded if they'd worked together better, if they hadn't been so willing to double-cross the other.

It was a scary thought.

But she heard also what Malfoy was implying, what he hadn't said aloud. Runcorn and Yaxley had been afraid of the influence that she and Ron and Harry had, that they still had, even know. And influence that could turn public favor against them, and help direct it towards the path they supported. Hermione was smart enough to know that it would take more than that to change public opinion about someone like Snape – that hatred still burned too deeply, too brightly.

But they might be able to do something, to make some sort of indent on the task.

She sighed again. "I'll talk to Harry," she promised.

Malfoy nodded. "Good. I'd better go." Sarcastically, he added, "The Aurors are probably lying in wait to ambush me after I leave the protection of your oh-so-glorious presence." He left, turning away from her sharply, silently, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're welcome," she muttered to the empty flat.

* * *

When the door opened, Percy didn't really expect to find George entering his room. Except for the one time that the remaining twin had used Muggle tricks to pick the lock on the door, Percy hadn't seen much of George. His mother, of course, had come several times, trying to draw him out into the rest of the house. So had his father, Ginny, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, and even Ron. It hadn't worked, but they had still tried.

George hadn't.

Percy ran a hand through his hair and blinked a couple times, but made no move towards George, did not respond to his presence in any outward way.

George stepped further into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was quiet, which was odd, but Percy did not ask. Instead, he stared in silence at the floor and waited for George to give up and leave. Neither of the twins had ever been patient, and he figured he could easily out-wait his brother.

Then George spoke, "Ron's going to be okay. They're releasing him soon."

Percy's throat was dry as he answered, "Good." He didn't want to lose another brother. He felt as though there was more he should say, however, but he couldn't find the right words. His mind was cloudy, fogged over by the grief of Penny's death, and nothing else seemed to penetrate.

Nothing but the heavy guilt, the thought that somehow he should have been able to save her.

"Everything is… people are going crazy," George continued. "I don't think anyone really knows what to make of it. It's a mess, all of it. And everyone is scared."

Percy nodded, looking up briefly to meet George's gaze. There was something in his brother's eyes, some emotion that Percy felt drawn towards, and it took him a moment to realize it was empathy.

He turned away before it became too much for him, before the thought that someone else cared could undo him completely. And, he reminded himself firmly, resolutely, George _didn't_ care about Penny. He'd never bothered to interact with her, and probably just saw her as yet another boring prefect. So well-suited for his boring brother.

He wasn't sure where the bitterness had come from, and he tried to push it down, force it aside, but it wouldn't leave. Suddenly, he felt the almost uncontrollable desire to get out, get away. He couldn't stand to be here, in this room, sitting across from George.

He rose to his feet, not really sure what he planned to do, but knowing that he had to leave. Maybe he would go back to his flat in London, maybe… He bit his lip, containing the sobs that were threatening to break loose. What was there for him in London? The flat would remind him far too much of Penny, of all the time he had spent with her.

"It doesn't help to run," George said abruptly.

Percy's gaze snapped towards his younger brother, but George wasn't looking at him. He was looking instead at the window just past Percy, clearly doing his best to avoid meeting Percy's eyes.

"Trust me," he added, voice hoarse, "you can't outrun grief."

Percy shook his head fiercely, eyes narrowed. "Do you think you're the only one who grieved for him?" he demanded. "I lost Fred, too."

"It's not the same," George answered simply. "You lost your brother, and so did I. But I also lost half of myself, and you couldn't know what that feels like…" he turned back to Percy, "until now."

Percy sat down hard.

"Mum's worried about you," George remarked casually.

Percy snorted. "I know," he answered, only just keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. He was well aware of his mother's feelings, and didn't need George to point them out to him.

"We all are," George added in a softer voice.

There was too much truth in George's voice for Percy to try to deny it, but that didn't change anything. They weren't moved so much by Penny's death as they were by the fact that her death had hurt him, and he didn't want that. He didn't want them to grieve for him, not when they weren't grieving the way he did for Penny.

It was unfair to expect that of them, he knew, but still…

He rubbed his eyes, tired and a little bit uncomfortable.

George made no move to leave.

It was then that Percy realized George wasn't intending on leaving, not yet. He didn't appear to have any more to say, but he sat there, his gaze roaming around the room, as though he was waiting for something.

Percy shot him a quizzical look.

George shrug, flushed slightly with embarrassment, and muttered, "It helps to… not be… alone."

Percy wanted to argue, wanted to point out that of all the people he could think of to keep him company right them, George wasn't even close to the top of the list. But George wasn't talking, and it took Percy a moment to realize that he wasn't going to start. He didn't want to talk about emotions or feelings or anything like that. He would just sit there, silent, letting Percy remain quiet.

Keeping him company.

Percy closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. George was right, he couldn't outrun this grief.

He continued to sit, quietly, while George drummed his fingers against the bed and stared off into space. And that was how Molly Weasley found them when she came upstairs to check on her third son a few hours later.


	34. Instrument of Your Peace

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Questions are asked, secrets are revealed, and Kingsley Shacklebolt receives a verdict.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Thirty-Three: Instrument of Your Peace

When they came for him, Snape thought it was perhaps the middle of the night. He couldn't be sure – his sense of time had long since dissolved into nothing – but the sky outside the prison fortress was darkening. There were no stars, everything was heavy with clouds that threatened rain, and even thunder and lightning seemed just around the corner.

He could catch a glimpse of the ocean around them through the thin slits of windows that they passed as they lead him along the corridor. Dementors floated backwards, away from him, away from all of them, while the silvery light of a Patronus circled him, fending off the Dark creatures.

But the air was still cold, still covered in a thick mist of depression, and every breath he took seemed to freeze his insides, ice growing in his veins.

He did not know what was happening or where they were leading him. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run, to flee, to go somewhere – anywhere – that was as far away from these stone-faced Aurors as possible. But he had no means of running, and so he followed them in a tense silence, waiting.

They lead him into an interrogation room. A large window at one end looked out over the steep drop down to the water below them, and out further to the distant horizon. There was no land in sight, save for the cliff on which the prison was perched. Snape thought, also, that the glass must have been charmed to be unbreakable, or else it would have been far too much of a safety risk.

Several candles floated above them. It was the first true light Snape had seen since his capture, and he found himself lifting his head and letting the glow of their flames fall on his face, warming his skin. He had spent all of his time as a teacher at Hogwarts in the dungeons, and never once thought he would miss the light. But there was no denying how happy he was to see it now.

"You may take a seat, Snape," one of the Aurors said, his voice sharp.

Snape did as he was told, noting with some satisfaction that the Auror had his wand gripped tightly in his hand, knuckles turning white from the pressure. It was clear that, even now, they were afraid of him, afraid of what they thought he might do.

There were three Aurors in the room, which seemed a ridiculous number. With his wand and all of his facilities, Snape had no doubt hat he would be able to overpower them, although even he had to admit it would be a struggle. But without a wand, and after so long at the Dementors' mercy, merely standing was proving to be difficult.

There was a long table before him, and he sat at one end while the three Aurors stood at the other. Then the first Auror, the one who had spoken, nodded to the others, some kind of silent signal. They stepped back, and turned towards the door, taking up guarding positions on either side, wands at the ready. The first Auror stared at them for a moment, as though contemplating something, then sat down at the end of the table opposite Snape.

"Severus Snape," he began, unfolding a scroll of parchment on the smooth surface of the table before him, "do you know why you are here?"

The Patronus, Snape realized, was probably still outside the room, keeping the Demontors away. He could no longer feel the chill of their presences, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt warm.

He looked at the Auror, leaning forward as just the tiniest bit of his sarcasm found its way back into his words. "Do you mean in Azkaban or do you mean in this room?" he asked. "Either way, I do believe you should be the one telling me, as it was your colleagues who put me here." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, black eyes staring shrewdly at the Auror.

"You are here," the Auror said, ignoring Snape's mocking words, "because you have been accused of being a Death Eater. You are here because you have been accused of treason and treachery. You are here because you have been accused of countless murderers, including, but not limited to, the murder of Albus Dumbledore." He paused, meeting Snape's gaze, then asked, "Do you deny this?"

"Do I deny that I have been accused of all those things?" Snape asked in a drawl. "Once again, I believe I will have to defer to you to answer the question. You are, after all, the one bringing the accusations to my attention."

The Auror narrowed his eyes and asked coldly, "Do you think this is funny?"

Outside the window, the storm broke, and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, outlining the jagged crags of the island. Rain burst from the clouds, pounding against the glass. Snape turned, staring at it for a moment, as did the three Aurors. The room was silent, and from above them, the candles cast flickering shadows on the table and across the ground.

"Have you come to inform me of my trial date?" Snape asked finally. "Have you come to assign me counsel?" He was not foolish enough to hope that he would get either of those – he knew how the Ministry worked. Sentencing without a trial was far more likely for him. Who would waste their time trying to defend him when the world was calling for his blood?

"No," the Auror said, the single word hard and sharp. Then he looked down, withdrawing a quill and ink jar from within his robes. He looked at the parchment again, before lifting his gaze back to Snape and saying, "I am, however, here to ask you about a statement by Andromeda Tonks. She testified to your innocence."

Snape gaped. It took a few seconds for him to quickly pull himself together and return his face to its usual blank expression. But even after he had managed that, he had the sneaking suspicion that his eyes still held some of their astonishment.

After all his time serving as a spy, he had assumed that nothing would ever surprise him again. But this did surprise him, more than he would have thought possible.

The Auror seemed pleased that he had managed to make Snape speechless. Pressing on while he still had the advantage, he said, "Some members of the Wizengamot were shown a memory of Dumbledore's that appeared to confirm your innocence. I can show you the memory, if you would like."

Snape hesitated, then questioned, "Which memory? What was in it?"

"You and Dumbledore, discussing how and when you would kill him. And attempting to save young Mr. Malfoy's soul," the Auror responded succinctly. "There was also some discussion as to the nature of the curse that afflicted Dumbledore's hand for most of the last year of his life."

Snape sighed inwardly, refusing to let his emotions show on his face. He knew this memory, and he did not need to relive it to remember, with vivid detail, the conversation he had had with the Headmaster. He did not know how Andromeda had gotten the memory, nor did he particularly care. She had remained silent on the subject of his true loyalties for so long, why would she spill his secrets now? Was she truly concerned for him, was she determined to keep him from losing his soul?

Or, more likely, was this just another way for her to somehow protect her sister?

"I will assume by your silence that you do not wish to see the memory," the Auror said, and scribbled something down on the parchment before him. "Very well, we shall proceed with the… questioning."

"Oh, so is this to be an interrogation?" Snape drawled, bringing up his mental barriers. Most interrogations, he knew, were accompanied with Legilimency of some kind. And it did not matter that they already had one of his memories, he would not allow them access to others.

"What did you expect?" the Auror shot back, temper flaring for a moment. He slanted a look at his two colleagues who still stood silently by the door. "We know you are a superb Occlumens, and are therefore reluctant to use Legilimency on you." One of the Aurors stepped forward, withdrawing a flask from his robes and placing it before Snape. "Drink," the main Auror ordered.

Snape lifted an eyebrow with cool distaste. "You expect me to willingly drink your potion? Veritaserum, I presume?" He pushed the flask away from himself, hearing the liquid sloshing inside. With each passing minute away from the Dementors, he found himself getting warmer, feeling stronger, and that was increasing his ability to think clearly and his determination to avoid spilling his secrets.

"You don't have a choice," the Auror said.

It was then that everything went black.

* * *

The Auror sighed and nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, turning to one of his companions by the door. "I had a feeling this would be difficult."

The other Auror inclined his head as he pocketed his wand. "Of course," he said pleasantly. "A silent stunner is certainly far easier than attempting to convince him to drink."

The main Auror rose and walked over to Snape, grabbing the flask as he did so. The potions Master was slumped forward, eyes closed, unaware of anything around him. The Auror opened the flask and glanced at the liquid inside, the truth potion that had been carefully brewed for the purpose of questioning suspected criminals.

There would be a trial, of course, if his words proved to be worth listening to. If Andromeda Tonks was correct, if Harry Potter was correct… if Snape really was a hero, then there would most certainly be a trial. But first they had to determine the truth, because this still could be some elaborate hoax, some trap meant to catch them unawares and wreak havoc on the world.

He sighed.

"I suppose we ought to get this over with, then."

* * *

When Snape regained consciousness, it was with a strange detachment to the world around him, a sense of floating, stuck in the same spot, while everything else spun around him. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have determined that it was an effect of the potion that had stripped him of his ability to lie. But the potion kept him from thinking much, and so he found himself unable to comprehend what had happened, unable even to realize that it was unusual to feel this way.

"_Why did you join the Death Eaters?"_

The question drifted towards him, though he couldn't place it, couldn't figure out who was speaking. It hovered in the air, and he answered it, not because he wanted to, but because he could think of no reason _not_ to answer it.

"I wanted power. And to be recognized. Respected." He paused, trying to find the right words. "The Dark Lord offered that. And more. Only a fool would refuse."

"_When you first joined the Death Eaters, were you loyal to them?"_

"Yes," he said.

"_Are you loyal now?"_

"No."

"_What changed?"_

He paused. He didn't want to answer that question, although he was not sure why. Something was telling him he ought to answer it, that he _had_ to, really. His insides clenched, but he couldn't stop himself from answering, so he said, "The Dark Lord wished to kill Lily. He believed the prophecy referred to her son, and planned to destroy the entire family. I could not let that happen."

"_Why not?"_

"I loved Lily."

There it was, the simple answer. There was nothing else to say, nothing left to give. He could have elaborated, could have told about how deep his love ran, about how he missed her so much. He could have filled the air with pretty words, but none of them would have carried the power to describe just what he had felt for the red-haired witch. Mere words could not do it justice.

For a few minutes, there was a silence. The voice did not ask anymore questions, not then, and Snape lapsed into his own quiet contemplation. He thought of very little, but instead remembered Lily, and it filled him with a strange peace.

But, of course, peace is always broken, and shortly the voice asked, "_What did you do after You Know Who threatened to kill the Potters?_"

"I went to Dumbledore. I agreed to spy for him. But it was not enough, the Dark Lord killed Lily anyway. Her son survived, and I tried to protect him."

"_But you killed him."_

That was not a question, and yet Snape found himself speaking anyway. "He was trying to save Draco and the rest of the students. He had a limited time, the curse on his hand was rapidly killing him. He would be dead before the year, and he knew it. He also doubted Draco could fulfill the Dark Lord's order, and so the task fell to me to protect the boy as best I could. Once I had killed him, we hoped I would be named Headmaster. That would allow me to continue to protect the students and the school."

He wasn't sure what he felt as he spoke. There was sorrow, of course, and grief for the old man's death. There was anger, a rush of fury at what he had been forced to do, a fury that was directed at himself, at Dumbledore, at the Dark Lord, at the entire world in general.

Oddly, Draco was the one person he had never blamed for what had happened.

But all these emotions were still separate from himself. He knew he was feeling them – or perhaps he knew he _should_ be feeling them – but they were still distant and vague. The detachment left him with an aftertaste of dislike in his mouth. He had a feeling he should not be happy about this predicament, but could not figure out what exactly it was that made him unhappy.

"_Why did you not reveal the truth before?"_

"It was my truth, my secret," Snape answered. "I saw no reason to let others poke around inside my mind." He paused, then added, "I did not think I would be caught. And I was content with my life. What need did I have to change it?"

* * *

Once again, he found himself at Hogwarts.

Harry sighed as he crossed the grounds towards the castle. His every attempt to move on with his life had been halted by the simple fact that he kept coming back here, back to Hogwarts, back to memories that would not let him go.

All things came full circle, and once again, he was back where he had started.

Nobody stopped him as he entered the castle and walked through the long hallways. There was no one here to stop him, not right now. He imagined most of the professors were gone, or perhaps it was just that the only three who he ever seemed to run into were McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Snape.

Two dead, one in prison.

He did not need to give a password at the gargoyle, it sprung aside for him. With McGonagall dead, and no successor currently assigned to follow her, the office had no commands to obey, no secrets to keep locked away. He was not surprised, therefore, to enter the circular room and find all the portraits asleep, the old Headmasters and Headmistresses leaning against their frames.

He was also not surprised to find Dumbledore awake and smiling at him, pale blue eyes staring at him, into him, through him.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted. "What brings you here?"

"Severus Snape," Harry said, not bothering to draw out the conversation. Hermione had come back to the Burrow with the story of her confrontation with Malfoy, and it had left him with the feeling of unease in his stomach. He knew much of Malfoy said was true, and he knew also that event though they had stopped Runcron, Yaxley, and Hannigan, they still had much to set right before the world was fixed.

If it was ever fixed.

Dumbledore sighed. There was something about his expression that gave Harry pause, some look in his eyes that indicated that the old man knew exactly why Harry was there, knew exactly what had happened.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and shook his head wearily. Dumbledore probably _did_ know why he was there.

"He was never… he wasn't on Voldemort's side," he said, choosing his words with care.

"Not since the beginning of the first war," Dumbledore agreed.

Harry bit back a harsh laugh and asked, "Why didn't you tell me? All this time… Why didn't you tell anyone? You, Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks…? Why did you all… why did you keep silent?" He spun around and started pacing, short, angry strides that carried him back and forth across the floor of the office. "He… he… He _killed_ you." The words were bitter, angry, and at that moment, he wasn't sure who he was angry with more – Snape or Dumbledore.

"He did not want his secret told," the portrait replied. "And it was not my secret to tell."

Harry paused, glaring at him. "You made decisions for everyone," he snapped. "Why was Snape different?"

"I made decisions when it was necessary, when _they_ were necessary to win the war. I did not make decisions that did not affect the rest of the world. If Severus does not wish…"

"Of course it affects the rest of the world!" Harry interrupted. "He _killed_ my parents. They are _dead_ because of him."

To which Dumbledore answered simply, bluntly, "And how would revealing the truth change that?"

Harry stopped pacing, his mouth falling open. He didn't have an answer to that, and that left him speechless and annoyed. It was true, revealing the truth about Snape's loyalties wasn't going to change anything that had happened in the past. It would not bring his parents back, it would not make the losses of the last two wars easier to bear, it would not ease the anger that clenched tightly in his chest at the thought of the potions Master.

"If I had known, it could have changed things," he protested finally, even though he could not give any concrete example of how that would be true.

"Severus spent much of his life serving as a spy for me. For _us_," Dumbledore answered. "He protected the school from Voldemort, just like he protected you as best he could for the six years you were at Hogwarts. And he helped you during the year you were searching for the Horcruxes. He brought you Godric Gryffindor's sword. If he does not want the world to know the truth, why should we force him?"

Harry frowned and retorted, "It's too late. He's in Azkaban now, and Mrs. Tonks has told everyone his secret. They know now."

That seemed to surprise Dumbledore, and Harry realized that, trapped in a portrait in the castle, he probably did not have as much access to information as he did while he was alive. But even though the old Headmaster looked surprised, he did not seem shocked. He must have known something, or at least had a suspicion about it, and as he had once told Harry, his guesses were usually correct.

"I gave Andromeda that memory so that she could use it to help him if necessary," Dumbledore mused after a moment of contemplation. "I did not think she would use it without his permission, but…" He trailed off, thinking, then shook his head, apparently coming to some conclusion. "I suppose I should have guessed that this could happen."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore didn't answer that question. Instead, he asked one of his own, "Was Narcissa Malfoy in danger?"

"Yes," Harry answered, and waited for more explanation, but Dumbledore did not elaborate any further. The younger wizard narrowed his green eyes and said, "Why didn't Snape want the world to know?"

"That is something you will have to ask him," Dumbledore replied.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, to point out that he wasn't even sure if Snape would be released from prison, and that anyway, the last thing he wanted was to actually talk to the potions Master. But then he snapped his mouth shut and looked away, letting the words burn into his mind, but refusing to say them aloud.

"You should ask yourself, Harry, why this matters so much to you," Dumbledore advised softly.

There were so many answers he could have given to that. It mattered to him because his hatred of Snape had twisted in his stomach for years, a bitter resentment that would not go away. For so long, he had believed that Snape had betrayed them – betrayed Dumbledore – just like he had betrayed James and Lily. It brought out the worst in him, and he _knew_ that. Would this truth make a difference? Would it lessen the anger he felt? Would it change _anything_ for him?

But he supposed he knew the answer to that; it was already changing things. Now it was not just anger he felt, but confusion and bewilderment as well. If everything he had learned was true – and he sincerely believed that it was – then Snape had done many brave and incredibly dangerous things to keep him safe. To protect the world, to stop Voldemort.

On the other hand, he _had_ been a Death Eater once. And he had committed crimes – torture, maiming, murder… Harry _knew_ what the Death Eaters did to their victims.

"If Voldemort had not targeted me… and therefore my mother… would Snape have ever switched sides?"

Dumbledore didn't answer Harry's question. There was no answer he could give, it was a hypothetical question that probably could not be answered, not even by Snape. No one ever truly knew what they _would have done_, had a situation been different.

The real question, he supposed, was did it matter? Did a hypothetical possibility matter when it was not what had actually come to pass?

Did all Snape's good deeds erase his bad choices? Or did his bad choices forever outweigh his good ones?

The world was falling apart now, and he could sit back and let it crumble, or he could try, once again, to intervene, to save it. To make a difference. To finally bring the peace that he had fought for, that his parents and so many of the people he cared about had died for.

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then let out a long, slow breath. He believed that Draco Malfoy was trying to change, trying to become a better person, and it was that belief that had led him to search out the other wizard and rescue him from Yaxley. Shouldn't the same hold true for everyone?

Didn't _everyone_ deserve a second chance?

* * *

"I've been pardoned?" Kingsley asked, mouth hanging open. "I… wait… _what_?"

Aurora Borealis pushed a scroll of parchment across the table and said, "Sign at the bottom, please, Auror Shacklebolt."

Kingsley scanned the document – a standard release form – and picked up the quill that had been handed to him. He was seated at a table in one of the many rooms in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Madam Borealis was seated across from him, and another Auror stood at his back. The windows showed a beautiful day, a bright sun shinning from a stunning blue sky, golden rays of light illuminating everything.

It was almost as though the weather was celebrating his freedom.

But Kingsley was fairly certain that it wasn't actually that sunny out. He shook his head in slight amusement as he signed the form.

"The Wizengamot has determined that you were not responsible for the death of Minerva McGonagall," Madam Borealis announced. "Those charges have been dropped. They have also determined that you are also not guilty of treason." She paused, then added, "You have not, however, been cleared of some lesser accusations. You made contact with Severus Snape without the permission of the Minister of Magic. You acted outside the legal parameters of your job."

"I was trying…" Kinglsey started, but Madam Borealis cut him off.

"I know," she said, reaching across the table and resting her hand on his arm. "Auror Shacklebolt, I understand that you were doing what you thought was best at the time. But we have laws for a reason, and no one is above them. If you choose to break them, you must also accept the consequences of that."

Kingsley nodded slowly, "Yes. I understand." Then he added, "I still stand by the decisions I made."

Madam Borealis rose to her feet. "I had a feeling you would," she said with a faint smile. "The accusations leveled against you are not serious enough to require that you remain in Azkaban. It is likely they will not even be addressed with a full trial. You are free to go, with the stipulation that you do not leave the country without permission." She gave him a pointed stare and said, "I would hate to have to send the Aurors after you."

Kingsley watched her leave the room, then let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

He was free.


	35. No Easy Walk

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: "This is ridiculous," Ron grumbled, propping his elbows on the table. "We won. Why do we have to keep fighting?"

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Thirty-Four: No Easy Walk (to Freedom)

Harry read the news the next morning in the Daily Prophet. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been released from Azkaban – this caused Ginny to leap to her feet and dance around the kitchen in joy – and Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had been arrested. There was no mention of Snape, which did not come as much of a surprise, or of Hannigan. There was a short article about Runcorn and Yaxley both being in prison.

"The new regime at the Ministry must be leaning on the Daily Prophet to report only what they want people to know," Hermione remarked as she scanned the paper over Harry's shoulder. "Until they figure out what to do about Snape, they aren't going to want the rest of the world to know what is going on. They're going to need to present that story a certain way if they want to keep control over the situation. And Hannigan… well, that was just a dark spot on their record. They'll want to keep him under wraps as much as possible."

Harry shook his head in disgust at the obvious censorship, and Ron muttered, "It's a newspaper. Shouldn't it tell the news?"

"It's a business," Hermione countered. "It exists to sell itself. Nothing more, nothing less."

Harry grinned at her words, remembering how angry she had been – how angry they had all been – at the Daily Prophet for what it printed in their fifth year at Hogwarts. It had been a hard lesson to learn, and somewhat embarrassing that they had to learn it from Rita Skeeter, but they had eventually accepted the fact that they could not ever trust the media to be impartial, to accurately represent the news. That was simply not how it worked. The Daily Prophet was a business, and businesses had to make money.

"Who is the new regime at the Ministry?" Ginny asked as she settled back into her seat at the table after Mrs. Weasley had glared at her for several seconds. "Without Hannigan, and with no Minister… who is in charge?"

Mr. Weasley looked up from spreading butter onto a slice of bread. "It's a little unclear. They haven't appointed anyone to Minister yet, but there are definitely power struggles happening behind the scenes. With both Amos Diggory and Hannigan no longer in the picture," he paused delicately at the mention of Diggory's untimely death before continuing, "it leaves room open for someone else to move in and take control. And there are a lot of people who are willing to make a move for it."

Harry stared down at the toast on his own plate and grimaced. "How will that play out in terms of the Malfoys?" he asked.

"It's too up in the air to know yet," Mr. Weasley replied thoughtfully. "A care can be made both for and against them, and it all depends on who ends up winning the power struggle, and what their opinions are. I don't think we will know anything for a while."

"This is ridiculous," Ron grumbled, propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "We won. Why do we have to keep fighting?" Mrs. Weasley shot him a look that clearly said to remove his elbows from the table and remember his manners, but he ignored it. After all, he'd just been released from the hospital, and now was the time to take advantage of the fact that his mother was far too concerned about him to stay angry for very long.

And sure enough, her glare faded and she ended up absently pushing a bowl of steaming porridge towards her son, silently urging him to eat more. Which he did, with a pleased smile on his face.

Harry watched the exchange, and did not answer Ron's question. There was no reason to say anything aloud. They all knew why they had to keep fighting, they all knew it was not over yet. Winning a war did not necessarily mean winning the aftermath, and this could go on for a very long time.

"Malfoy thinks you could intervene," Hermione said pointedly, reminding Harry of what she had already told him. "You could help them. You could help him." She paused, then added, "You could help all of us." She rested her hand protectively on Ron's arm as she spoke, as though afraid he might suddenly collapse and be carted off to the hospital again.

"Yeah, because it isn't like he's spent the last ten years trying to save the world," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes, and Hermione smiled.

"Yes, but the world isn't saved yet," a new voice said, joining the conversation, and all eyes turned to see Percy standing in the doorway of the room. His hair was ruffled and messy, and his eyes were rimmed by dark circles that accentuated his naturally pale skin. His entire expression seemed to sag underneath the weight of his grief, giving him a look of perpetual pain.

But he was there, standing before them, voluntarily enduring their presence, something he had not done since Penny's death.

"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley jumped to her feet and rushed to his side, smothering him in a tight embrace. Tears pricked at her eyes, making their way down her cheeks, and Harry wondered as he watched her if they were tears of pain at what her son had experienced or tears of joy that he was finally talking to her.

"Mum… Mum, really… please…" Percy's attempts to get himself released from the hug were all in vain, though that did not stop him from trying. "I just want to sit down… maybe eat something…"

"I don't think it will ever be saved," Harry said as Percy finally pulled himself free of his mother's embrace and slid into a chair at the table. He didn't want to say the words aloud, didn't want to admit that he was getting tired of this constant fighting, this continual need to stop the Dark from taking over. Even in his own head, it sounded absurdly selfish and self-pitying, and yet…

And yet, he still wanted the world to find some other champion to fight for it.

Mrs. Weasley shoved a plate piled high with several pieces of bread slathered in butter in front of Percy, and the redhead grimaced. Harry couldn't really blame him, it looked as though Mrs. Weasley was now determined to feed him until he burst as though she somehow needed to make up for the past few days when he would not eat at all.

After a few minutes of silence in which Ron stole a piece of toast from Percy's plate and Hermione slapped his arm in admonishment, Mr. Weasley interjected into the conversation, "What ever you do, Harry, be careful. If we've learned nothing else from the debacle with Hannigan, we should have at least learned that these are _still_ dangerous times."

"Shouldn't you be getting into work, dear?" Mrs. Weasley reminded her husband suddenly.

He rose from the table and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. "True," he agreed. Then he clapped Percy on the shoulder and said, "You can take some more time off of work, can't you? No one expects you in right now."

Percy shrugged. "Honestly, things are so messed up at the moment, I don't think they would even notice." His words were gloomy and drawn, and he stared morosely at the table. Harry wondered how it felt for Percy to leave the Ministry in such shambles and not have to think about returning. So much of his life had been built around being the dutiful student and the dutiful employee. Now his workplace was falling apart, and he wasn't there.

"I'm glad you can be here," Mrs. Weasley said with a tearful smile. "You will continue to stay, won't you, Percy? Instead of going back to that flat?"

"I… I haven't decided yet," Percy admitted a little reluctantly. He glanced quickly at his mother, then looked away again and continued, "It has some of her belongings in it." He didn't say Penelope's name, but it did not matter. The name still rang in the silence, a reminder of what this had cost, of everyone and everything that they had all lost.

He also didn't say what he really meant – that part of him wanted to stay in the flat so that he could feel as though Penny might still be there, might still be alive and about to come over any minute. But the others knew what he had tried to explain, and they nodded slowly, understandingly.

"Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable," Mr. Weasley said with another pat on the shoulder for his son. Mrs. Weasley did not look pleased by that comment, she had obviously wanted her husband to convince Percy to stay with them. But she didn't say anything, and Percy gave a slightly pleased nod at that, at the fact that his family was willing to accept whatever choice he made.

Mr. Weasley left them, disappearing through the fireplace, and Harry stared at the spot where the older wizard had been.

"You will be careful, won't you, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, turning to him with a pleading stare. "Whatever you decide to do… just be… cautious. Danger always has a way of finding you, no reason to give it any help."

"I'll be careful," Harry promised, and Mrs. Weasley gave a tremulous smile and bustled from the kitchen.

Again, everything was silent. And the silence was not unwelcome, at least not for Harry. He hadn't yet figured out what he was going to do, and he relished the chance to think, to sort through all his options. He knew the first thing he had to do was see Kingsley, talk to him, try to figure out where they all stood. After that…

After that, what did he do? He wanted to help the Malfoys, or at least Draco and Narcissa, but he did not know how. And he still had no idea what his opinions were when it came to Snape.

He looked over at Ginny and saw that she had taken Percy's hand. Her fingers were interlaced with his, and though she was not looking at him, she was still somehow managing to convey warmth and sympathy through her touch.

"It's strange," Percy said after a moment, "but I was so angry with everyone. Dad and George and… Fred…" a choked whisper, the deceased twin's name just barely making it out of his lips, "and… well… _everyone_. After the argument. After everything they said and everything I did… And now I can't remember why it ever seemed that important."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "I know what you mean."

Harry stare at the two of them, lost in his own thoughts. Percy and Ginny were right, though, and he knew it. After everything they had all been through, the anger and the grudges and intense dislike he had always felt for Draco Malfoy no longer seemed that important. They were on the same side now, and at the moment, that was all that really mattered.

He got up and walked out of the room, and a moment later Hermione joined him in the living room.

"What are you going to do?" she asked without preamble.

"I need to talk to Kingsley," he answered, "and then I am going to do whatever is necessary to get the Malfoys out of Azkaban."

* * *

Kingsley was not at all surprised to find Harry stepping out of the fireplace, brushing soot and dust from his robes. The telltale signs of exhaustion could be seen in the green eyes of the Boy Who Lived, and the young face was lined with apprehension. But the expression still had the same steely undertone, the fierce determination _that no, he was not going to back down, no matter what._

"Harry," Kingsley greeted him cordially. "Please, have a seat."

"Thanks," Harry replied as he slid into the indicated chair. He looked around the room for a moment, and Kingsley let the silence remain over them, knowing that the younger wizard was using this opportunity to gather his thoughts.

"You've been released," Harry said finally. His voice was muffled by something, some emotion that Kingsley did not bother trying to understand. Too much had happened since his incarceration that he did not yet know about, and it would be foolish and a waste of time to pretend that he could comprehend what had happened to the world in the past few days.

He only knew what had happened to himself, and that was enough to occupy his mind for the moment. His memories of Azkaban were not pleasant, to say the least.

"Are you still working on the Ministry?"

Kingsley shook his head. He knew Harry's question was really just a polite way of asking if he had been sacked. And he _hadn't_ been, not officially. But it was only a matter of time before people started calling for his resignation, and no one who wanted to stay in power could allow him to remain against public will.

"I'm on temporary leave," he said smoothly, "but I imagine it will be permanent soon. Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged moodily and didn't answer. It was clear he was lost in his own thoughts.

The Ministry had to be falling apart. Kingsley had not done enough investigating into that matter to figure out exactly how things stood, but he had asked some questions and discovered some answers. And he knew that with the previous Minister dead, Hannigan in Azkaban, and he himself currently still in suspicion, there were precious few who had the influence or power to keep everything together.

"This is… wrong," Harry said finally. "All of it. The Malfoys being in Azkaban, you not being Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement…" he trailed off with a heavy sigh. "Snape, even," he muttered. "It's all just wrong."

Kingsley nodded wearily. He had heard the rumors that had floated around since Andromeda's appearance at his trial, and he knew what people were saying about Snape. Some thought he deserved a chance to speak, to defend himself, others thought he deserved to rot his life away, forgotten behind Azkaban's dreary walls. He was curious to know the full story, to understand finally why Dumbledore had trusted him, why Narcissa Malfoy continued to protect him, and why even Harry was slowly starting to demand more answers before passing judgment.

But he doubted his curiosity would ever be fully answered. Jonathon Abbott was grabbing for power himself, and he looked well poised to influence the Wizengamot. Aurora Borealis was fair enough, but she was far too easily swayed by power and prestige, and Abbott would not find her difficult to manipulate.

And Abbott did not want Snape freed.

"I need to find a way to clear Malfoy's name," Harry said, interrupting Kingsley's thoughts. The Auror frowned and gestured for Harry to continue. "He helped us," Harry explained. "And he's just being used right now. By everyone. He shouldn't… he deserves a chance."

_A chance for what_, Kingsley wondered vaguely, still watching Harry closely. Before his imprisonment, Kingsley could clearly recall Harry's furious hatred of Snape and suspicion and distrust of Malfoy. What had changed? What could have happened that would allow him to so drastically alter his opinions?

"That's to be difficult," Kingsley said at last. "Malfoy and Snape are both beyond our help at the moment."

As Kingsley could have predicted, Harry exploded in outrage, "But they shouldn't be! We can't just do _nothing_!"

"I'm not suggesting that," Kingsley interceded swiftly, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes at the hot-tempered wizard who sat before him. Since the end of the war, since the defeat of Voldemort, Harry's temper had cooled, become more manageable. Only mentions of Snape had ever managed to illicit such a reaction from him. But that seemed to have changed.

Still, sometimes unreasonable temper was a benefit. In times such as these, with the rest of the world teetering precariously on the brink of disaster, it was the stubborn, hot-headed, and irrationally determined who had the greatest chance of forcing through the necessary changes.

"But," Kingsley continued, a smile starting to tug at the corners of his lips, "without the public knowing the truth, it is going to be difficult to set things right again. We face the same problem that occurred when Voldemort first returned, when the Ministry was hiding the truth. Which means…"

"The public needs to know," Harry mused, as he, too, smiled, catching the unspoken hint in Kingsley's words. With a satisfied expression, he added, "Hermione said Draco Malfoy told her that I would have the influence to make people listen to me."

"You do have that," Kinglsey agreed. "As you did before. Even if it was through a very… unorthodox… newspaper."

Harry rose to his feet. "Thank you. For the advice."

"Any time," Kingsley replied with a reassuring nod. "I care about this just as much as you do." He folded his hands together, fingers interlacing and leaned forward towards Harry's standing figure. "Give my greetings to Ms. Lovegood, won't you? And, I suppose, Ms. Skeeter."

"Of course," Harry promised, and the beginning of a plan was formed.

* * *

It would be impossible to get Rita Skeeter into Azkaban, Harry knew, which was a pity. The story would be so much better if she could interview Draco directly, but at least Harry knew most of the pieces. He could strings things together as best he could, and if there were any missing gaps, then he would address that issue when it came.

So it was with a hopeful attitude that he found himself, once again, sitting with Hermione, Luna, and Rita Skeeter, watching as the reporter's quill flew across the parchment before her, recording everything he said. The truth would not be easy for many to accept, and he himself did not like having to reveal so much about his own prejudices, his own mistakes. But he _had_ made mistakes, and if he was going to demand that others pay for theirs, then he had to at least admit to his.

When the interview was over, Rita leaned forward and asked breathlessly, "Why are you so adamant that the truth be told? Why are you trying so hard to help them?"

Harry shrugged and looked over at Hermione and Luna. They, too, were waiting for an answer, and he said with reluctance, but with as much honestly as he could, "Because someone once told me that everyone deserves a second chance."

* * *

"Hi, Lily."

"Hello, Sev."

Snape leaned back against the cold wall of his cell and smiled at the phantom who was standing there. He held the stone in his hand, clutched tightly beneath his curled fingers, because he knew if he dropped it, she would disappear. And he didn't think he could stand that, didn't think he could allow himself to lose her right now.

The ice that usually seeped into his room and covered him in a numbing sensation of cold was gone. The Dementor outside his door would drift closer and closer, in fact he could hear the rustling inhale of the creature's long, drawn-out breaths. But with Lily there, he did not feel the negative effects, did not lose his grip on his sanity. He had precious few good memories, but they stuck with him, as long as Lily was there.

Of course, her presence could protect him from the Dementors, but it was not enough to keep out the inner demons that were now plaguing him. He began to pace restlessly, angrily, his tattered robes billowing about him. He had spilled his secrets to the Aurors, and now they knew the truth. How long would it be before the truth was known by everyone? How long before the entire world could pick over his thoughts, his memories, his past decisions and actions, and decide whether to applaud or condemn him?

It really should not have bothered him, because he never especially cared. There were very few people in this world who's opinions mattered to him, and most of those people were already dead, killed by this war. By the Dark Lord or his followers.

"If it gets you out of prison," Lily murmured, "then why is it so bad?"

"Because it's mine!" Snape hissed. "My secrets. My past. And I…" He stopped, shook his head as if to clear his muddled thoughts. There was a pause, a silence broken only by the continual drip of water that made its way in tiny droplets down the damp stone wall, falling over mildew and mold until reaching the floor.

"It isn't just your past," Lily pointed out. "And you are not the only one who has been affected by the decisions you made."

There was no reprimand in her voice, but Snape flinched all the same. She would never need to say it to him, but it would still be there, lingering in the air, the knowledge that he was responsible, in part, for her death. For James' death. For Harry growing up without parents, without a family that loved him.

He looked at Lily, eyes dark and shadowed, and asked, "What do you want from me?"

She laughed. "You're the one who called me, Sev. You're the one who turned that stone over in your hand and pulled me back from… what was it Albus used to say? Ah, right… the next great adventure." She sobered. "What do _you_ want from _me_?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He knew he needed something, but it wasn't clear yet. Of course, things hadn't been clear in a while, not since his imprisonment in this place with these foul creatures that sucked all the happiness from the very air, leaving behind a depressing chill. Or had it even been before that? Had things stopped being clear when he first agreed to meet with Shacklebolt in a futile attempt to save Minerva McGonagall?

The lines had been blurred then, and he'd crossed right over them without even realizing it.

"What's it like?" he asked finally, falling back on academic curiosity to fill the space between them. "Death, I mean?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Lily chided.

He looked away from her. "It would be far easier, if I knew what was coming," he mused softly, under his breath so that she could not hear him. It wasn't death he was particularly interested in, but just the unknown, the future, and whatever might come from it.

Once, their roles had been reversed. Once, she'd been a scared child grasping for answers, afraid of what the new world might bring. Before Hogwarts, she had never been particularly brave. Oh, she'd pulled a few little stunts to impress Petunia, but the unknown still frightened her, and he'd had to reassure her on numerous occasions that she would fit in at Hogwarts, that it didn't matter that she was Muggleborn, that she'd never been a part of the wizarding world. Then, he was the one with answers, and she was the one asking questions.

Now, it seemed, their roles had changed. She had answers, and he was still left in fumbling in the dark.

"You have to let go," Lily said finally.

"Of what?" he asked sharply, turning to her. He was no longer angry – that took too much effort, and, anyway, it was hard to be angry in Lily's presence. But once the anger left, there was only numbness in its place, and he wasn't sure he liked that either.

"Of everything. Of the past," Lily answered.

'The past," Snape countered dryly, "is why I went to such great lengths to protect your son. Would you have me change that?" It was an unfair question, of course, because he _knew_ that Lily would not change it. No mother who loved her son as much as Lily loved Harry would ever ask for someone to stop protecting him. Particularly when the insufferably meddlesome boy kept putting himself in harm's way.

Though he had great respect for Minerva and great love for Lily, it did not change his opinion of the group overall. As a general rule, Gryffindors were still fools.

But Lily surprised him by answering with a teasing grin, "Well, you're hardly going to protect him by staying in Azkaban. Though I can see why you would want to stay, the interior decorating is quite splendid."

Their previous conversation had been filled with emotion, with tears and anger and everything they'd never really managed to say to each other, all the loose ends and little pieces of the fragmented friendship that had been left strewn across the ground. They were both treading softly now, as though afraid to repeat what had happened, afraid to once again be thrown into that mess. In comparison, this exchange seemed sterile, stilted, even. Too clean, too picked over and pulled apart, too trivial.

That previous conversation had given them some kind of closure – a closure neither really wanted to ruin – but it still wasn't enough.

Snape couldn't let go. Not of her, and not of the past.

But Lily reached out to him suddenly, as though she wanted to touch him. Her fingers, pale and silver, paused in midair, hovering just above his arm. She was staring at his face, staring directly into his eyes with a determination that did not fade despite his own glower.

Time had made her braver than she'd once been. Time, and her brushes with the Dark Lord.

"Why now?" she whispered.

She didn't elaborate, didn't expand on the question, and he did not need her to. He understood what she was asking. Why did he call her now, when he had not needed to speak to her since their first meeting? He'd figured out what the stone was, what it did. He'd known for a while now that he had the means to speak to her at his fingertips, and yet until now, he'd not felt the need to use it.

What had changed?

They'd found out the truth. _That_ was what had changed. Would he be given a trial? He had never expected that, and part of him had relished in the thought that he would be sent to Azkaban without any questions being asked. They could suck out his soul if they wanted, but as long as they didn't demand the truth, as long as they were never given a reason to mock him, to _pity_ him…

"Do you now how many people die every second?" Lily murmured, letting her arm fall to her side, though her gaze did not leave his face. "And how many of those people truly deserve death? The world is not a perfect place. But you have the chance to avoid that, to live the life you deserve. Why do you insist on throwing it away?"

"What about living the life I want?" Snape demanded.

She stared at him, the spread her arms wide, gesturing to the cell around them. "Is this the life you want? Is it _really_?"

"I can't have the life I want," Snape muttered, and moved away from her.

Lily shrugged. "Neither can I," she pointed out, and though she did not finish the thought, Snape still heard the words she had not said.

_At least you have a life._

"You know the story of the Deathly Hallows," Lily said softly, her eyes lowering to his hand, the one still clenched tightly around the precious stone. "You know what that is."

"A fairytale," Snape answered with a smirk. "No one ever meets Death on path through the woods. Only children are foolish enough to believe that."

Lily smiled, but it was a bittersweet expression, and the smile did not reach her eyes. In a voice tinged with sadness, she asked, "And tell me, Severus, in the fairytale, what happens to the second brother?" He gazed mutely at her, and she murmured, "There is no reason to dwell on the past, Sev, if it takes away any chance you have of a future."

He dropped the stone to the cold floor, and Lily disappeared, but not before he saw the lone tear make its way down her cheek. It was then that he realized that this own eyes were burning with unshed tears as well, and he blinked rapidly, forcing them away through sheer willpower.

The cell was cold again, and this time Lily had brought him very little comfort to keep away the ice.


	36. The More Things Change

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Rita Skeeter's article causes quite a stir, and Harry makes a final, monumental decision.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five: The More Things Change…

_TRUTH AND LIES: HANNIGAN, RUNCORN, YAXLEY, MRS. MALFOY, SHACKLEBOLT, AND SNAPE_

_WHAT REALLY HAPPENED?_

_A Rita Skeeter Exclusive_

_Only a few days after the arrest of Kingsley Shacklebolt on the charges of treason and accessory to murder, new information has come to light about the true loyalties of the Auror. Yesterday, in an exclusive interview with Harry Potter, this reporter learned that Shacklebolt had, in fact, been attempting to protect Minerva McGonagall and ensnare the true villains - Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley._

_Witnesses reported having seen Severus Snape kidnap Minerva McGonagall outside Hogsmeade. Accordingly, Aurors were sent to find the traitorous Death Eater and the missing Headmistress. Part of this attempt included the interrogation of Narcissa Malfoy, who claimed to know nothing about Snape's whereabouts. But Lucius Malfoy was later accused of being in contact with Snape, and of helping Shacklebolt located him, and arrange for the deaths of both Headmistress McGonagall and Minister Amos Diggory._

_The entire wizarding world has been shaken to its core by the two deaths. A brief statement given by a senior Ministry official at the time promised no effort spared in catching the culprit and bringing him to justice. At the time, the culprit was believed to be Snape, who had been apprehended by Frederick Hannigan. Now it appears as though the true enemy might have been far closer than anyone realized._

_Says the Boy Who Lived, "Hannigan was behind it. Hannigan, with help from Runcorn and Yaxley. It wasn't Snape, and it certainly wasn't Kingsley."_

_And Narcissa Malfoy?_

"_A relatively innocent victim in all this," according to Potter. "Hannigan blackmailed her, threatening to bring harm to her and Draco Malfoy unless she gave up her husband in court. But none of the Malfoys were responsible for either death."_

_Potter went on to explain that Hannigan had…_

Jonathon Abbott crumpled the newspaper article in one hand and then shoved it away from himself, his face twisted in disgust. He refused to believe a single word that had been written. He _knew_ the Malfoys, knew that they were Death Eaters who deserved Azkaban, or worse. The very idea that they could be painted as innocent victims was laughable.

"You saw the article, sir?"

Startled, Abbott turned towards the open door to his office. His assistant stood before him, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Her blue eyes were focused on him with an unreadable expression as she waited patiently for an answer.

"I did," he said angrily. "Load of rubbish is what it is."

"Harry Potter…"

"Potter is mistaken," Abbott said coldly. "He has been lied to, manipulated…" He trailed off, and shook his head. "But he is wrong. Nothing in this," he gestured jerkily towards the balled up newspaper, "is true. It simply cannot be true."

"What now, sir?" his assistant asked.

"I won't let the Malfoys escape. They can't weasel their way out of this, not this time."

* * *

…_when in fact it was Runcorn who killed the Headmistress. Instead of bringing Runcorn to justice, however, Hannigan accused Snape and brought him to Azkaban._

_This was confirmed during a recent interrogation with Snape, when, under a truth potion, the Death Eater admitted to being a spy for the Order of the Phoenix during both wars. In fact, the supposed murder of Albus Dumbledore was really…_

Harry frowned at the paper, then looked up at Luna with a smile. "It's great, Luna. Thank you. And, um… thank your father for me, won't you?" The topic of Luna's father had always been one he avoided around her, given how the older wizard had tried to turn Harry over to the Death Eaters. He was still Luna's father, and she wouldn't hear anything bad about the man, but Harry couldn't always bring himself to stay civil.

Still… he tried. After all, Xenophilius Lovegood had allowed this article to be printed in his newspaper, and that was the only way it had managed to reach so many people.

Luna nodded serenely. "He's happy to help," she answered with a smile.

There were some parts of it, though, that didn't quite make sense to Harry. He hadn't told Rita Skeeter anything about Snape's interrogation. In fact, he hadn't _known_ anything about the interrogation. He supposed Rita could have found the information anywhere, she did have a certain knack for releasing details that others might have preferred to keep quiet.

"What now?" Luna asked. "Do you need more? Because Daddy says he might have some room for you in the next issue, but he's not sure. He's got a good piece about the Two-Horned Muffles. There was an actual sighting in Scotland! Outside of Edinburgh. Daddy's going to go investigate it some more."

She was so excited when she said this, her entire face flushed, her eyes lit with anticipation.

"I don't really know," Harry admitted, suppressing a grin and deciding not even to ask what a Two-Horned Muffle was. "I want to see what happens with this first."

He hadn't given a whole lot of thought to what would happen after the article was published. It had been the first step in an unformed plan, and he didn't know exactly how to proceed. He hoped that some of the wizarding world would see this article and be outraged by it, would demand that the Ministry be held accountable for its mistakes. But he knew that others would refuse to believe – they always did – and that worried him.

"Well, alright," Luna agreed amicably, twisting a few strands of blonde hair around one finger.

On a whim, Harry asked, "What do you think of all this, Luna?"

She looked at him, not the least bit surprised to have her opinion asked, and gave a little shrug. "We always fight," she said simply, bluntly. "Some of the time, it is a full-out war. Others, it is just little arguments. But its always there. Conflict doesn't go away just because the evil side has been defeated."

It was both incredibly depressing and undeniably true, Harry reflected glumly as he gave a little nod.

Then Luna brightened and said, "As long as you know that what you are fighting for is worth the risk, then it isn't so bad."

Harry wondered about that. People died in these wars, would they agree that it was worth it in the end? But then, he thought idly, they probably thought this war was something worth dying for. Wasn't that exactly what Sirius had said the night that Nagini had attacked Mr. Weasley? That they all knew the risks, and everyone in the Order had agreed that it was worth it.

In the end, Sirius had died for that cause. Died to keep Harry alive. Just like James and Lily.

Harry rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed. He hated this, hated the feeling of waiting. He couldn't really do anything, not yet, not until they had a more fully-formed plan. He just had to wait, to see what would happen next…

And patience had never been one of his virtues.

"You know, you don't necessarily have to just sit around and do nothing," Luna mused as though she had somehow read his mind. "You're the Chosen One, after all. I bet if you requested to meet with someone – _anyone_ – they'd let you. And that could help, Harry. Because it always help to answer your questions before you try to answer everyone else's."

He knew what she was saying, what she was implying, and he sighed. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time for him to pay a visit to Severus Snape.

* * *

…_yet another death to add to the list. Penelope Clearwater, a Healer at St. Mungo's, was killed protecting her boyfriend, Percy Weasley, and his family from Yaxley and Runcorn. _

_In an effort to prove Shacklebolt's innocence, the Boy Who Lived, accompanied by Mr. Ronald Weasley, Ms. Hermione Granger, and Mr. Draco Malfoy attempted to detain the two Dark wizards at the Yaxley Manor in southern France. They succeeded in apprehending Runcorn, and brought him to the Ministry, where they were met by Percy Weasley and Ms. Clearwater. _

_However, Yaxley soon came to his co-conspirator's defense, attacking the four at the Ministry. In the resulting battle that took place, Ms. Clearwater was killed…_

Percy folded the _Quibbler_ in half and placed in beside the glass of orange juice his mother had poured for him. Hermione glanced at him, then at the paper, and sighed. Her actions were mimicked by Ginny, and it was clear that both girls were already concerned about the possible ramifications of the article. Ron, too, seemed concerned, though his expression was a lot darker, almost defiantly mulish.

"All three Malfoys are in Azkaban," Mr. Weasley said heavily as he entered the kitchen. "People are starting to ask questions now that Harry's article has been well circulated, but still… I'm not sure how much it will change."

"How did Rita Skeeter even find out what Snape said in the interrogation?" Percy asked curiously, looking over at his father.

Mr. Weasley shrugged. "I don't know. But the Aurors that interrogated him haven't been particularly quiet about what they learned. I doubt it would have been difficult for her to get that information."

"And she would have been eager for more information," Hermione muttered. "A story like this… we know how much she enjoys sensationalizing everything."

"Like it wasn't sensational enough to start with," Ginny muttered under her breath. "She just likes stretching the truth as much as possible."

"But she didn't stretch the truth," Hermione pointed out logically. "Everything she reported was factual." She rose to her feet and walked over to the window, leaning against the wall. "It might not have been exactly what we expected, but it is pretty much what we wanted. Isn't it?"

"But nothing's happened yet," Ron complained. "At least not enough."

"Be patient," Hermione chided.

Patience wasn't a trait any of them had a lot of at the moment, however, particularly given how long they had been fighting this particular battle. Harry wasn't the only one among them who simply wanted it to be over.

Percy ran a hand through his red hair and glanced quickly at the article. He had not expected to see Penelope's name in print, and had been stunned to read it there. As far as he knew, Harry had not mentioned anything about the specifics of Penny's death to Rita, and yet she had detailed it with such clarity, such vivid detail…

He shivered slightly, and felt Ginny's fingers resting gently on his arm. Slanting a quick look at her, he saw the sympathetic gaze in her eyes. She obviously knew what he was thinking, and he rested his hand on top of hers with a grateful nod.

He could remember so clearly the way her eyes had widened in horror a moment before the spell had hit her. In that moment, when she had realized what was about to happen, when she knew that nothing could save her…

He looked back at his father, forcing himself to listen to the conversation.

"…if Kingsley is cleared of all charges. But I don't know how likely that is. Even with everything Harry said in that article… Kingsley did break the law. The Wizengamot is not going to overlook that."

"But who else in left?" Ron protested. "The Ministry needs someone to lead them, and we don't have anyone else who is even slightly trustworthy." He shook his head glumly. "Everyone else high up in the Ministry is just too…"

"Yeah," Ginny agreed when Ron trailed off, groping for the right words.

Percy licked his dry lips and looked down at the table. He'd worked in the Minister's office long enough to know how politics would play out at that level, and it was rarely the most trustworthy who received the top job. It would go instead to the person willing to play the game, to take the risk, bend the rules, and gamble for it.

"Jonathon Abbott."

Ron and Ginny both gave him confused looks, but Mr. Weasley just nodded. "I've thought of that," he admitted reluctantly. "He has a chance. A good one."

"A chance at what?" Ginny demanded hotly.

"Being appointed Minister," Percy muttered, rubbing his face with one hand. He pushed himself to his feet and walked wearily towards the doorway leading out of the kitchen, thoughts of Penny on his mind. It was hard to focus on anything else besides her, even with the world crumbling all around him.

He paused at the doorway and looked back at his family. Ginny and Ron were both grumbling at each other, and Hermione was lost in her own thoughts. Mr. Weasley had folded his arms over his chest and was tapping the fingers of one arm against the opposite elbow.

The room was quiet, tense, but Ginny caught his eye and gave him another sympathetic nod.

At least they'd made progress. He and his family were coming together, slowly but surely. They'd figure it out, somehow. They'd learn how to be a family again.

He could only hope the rest of the world would fare as well.

* * *

…_but why did Snape agree? According to one source who wishes to remain unnamed, it was because of an undying love for Lily Potter._

_Snape, who grew up close to Mrs. Potter's childhood home, had developed a close friendship with the mother of the Boy Who Lived. Although this friendship did eventually disintegrate, as many childhood friendships do, Snape still cared deeply for his one-time friend. When he realized that You Know Who intended to target the Potters, he agreed to spy on his former Lord and allies in an attempt to save the doomed family._

_As we all know, Lily and James Potter were murdered by He Who Must Not Be Named, despite the protections of the Order and the Ministry. Snape, however, continued his allegiance to Dumbledore and the side of Light in order to protect Harry Potter from the remnants of the Death Eaters._

_Given the new details that have come to light…_

Andromeda tossed the Quibbler into the fireplace and turned away from the burning pages. She certainly had not meant for things to get this far out of her control. She'd only wanted to help her sister, and to help Severus, to the best of her abilities. She'd spilled secrets she had promised to keep, told tales that perhaps should have remained silent.

She didn't know how Ms. Skeeter had managed to get the details on Severus' feelings towards Lily Potter, and she didn't particularly care. The potions Master wouldn't care either, he'd simply be furious that his story had ended up in print.

She wondered idly if he would track down whichever Auror had spoken to the reporter, had given her the full details of the interrogation. That didn't really matter to her either, though. Nothing much mattered.

Narcissa was in Azkaban.

All these years, the one thing she had striven so hard to prevent… and for what? To fail now, after all this time?

It was clear that Harry Potter was determined to have the family freed. But would that be enough? People wanted blood. Would they be satisfied with having Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley brought to justice? Would they even believe the allegations brought against those three men? Hannigan was well-liked, particularly now given all that he had done to _protect_ the wizarding world after the deaths of Diggory and McGonagall.

She curled a lip in disgust.

The sound of pattering footsteps on the floor caused her to turn around and force a smile to her lips as Teddy came running in. He was grinning happily, some toy clutched in his hands, oblivious to the turmoil going on in the world around him.

She scooped him up, resting him on her hip, and murmured softly, "I hope that by the time you're old enough to really understand this all, we've managed to make the world a better place for you."

* * *

Kingsley was standing in the quiet of his office was the door suddenly swung open. He had been clearing out a few of his belongings, things he would need at home over the next few days. No one had informed him of how long his temporarily leave of absence would last, though he imagined it would not end until it was decided just what exactly he would be charged with. Then he would either be re-instated, or the leave would be made permanent.

He looked up sharply, surprised by the resonating thud of the door snapping back on its hinges and hitting the wall. He hadn't expected to be disturbed – in fact, he hadn't even realized that anyone knew he was at the Ministry today.

It was Jonathon Abbott.

His face was a mottled red of rage as he strode into the room and demanded fiercely, "What are you doing here?"

Kingsley refused to be intimidated by the other man as he answered calmly, "Gathering some of my belongings. What are you doing here?"

"I still work at the Ministry," Abbott sneered, a taunt implied in his tone.

Kingsley forced himself not to respond in anger, and said simply, "But not in this office. This is still my office, and will be until I am permanently removed."

"You'll be removed soon enough," Abbott promised.

Kingsley turned away from him. Unfortunately, Jonathon Abbott was a strong contender for Minister of Magic. It would detrimental to everyone if he were appointed, but it was a distinct possibility. And Kingsley knew that Abbott was most assuredly using his current prestige and power to argue for the temporary leave to become permanent.

There were other things he could do. Even if he lost his license as an Auror, which he supposed could easily happen, there were still plenty of other things he could do. He was in no danger of not finding employment. But he was more concerned for the Ministry than for himself, and he knew it would crumble without someone there to protect it.

"You are not a Department Head," Kingsley said finally. "It is not for you to decide who stays and who leaves."

The power in the Ministry didn't exactly rest with the Department Heads, but they did have more influence than regular employees. A fact that both Kingsley and Abbott knew quite well.

Abbott was seething. "Things will change," he spat. "I've seen the rubbish that was printed in the Quibbler. Do you really think you can get away with it?"

Kingsley lifted his eyebrows an said in a measured tone, "I was not the one who wrote the article, nor did I give the interview. What exactly do you believe _I_ am getting away with?"

"This garbage about the Malfoys…"

"Why are you so set against them?" Kingsley interrupted, giving Abbott a hard look. "Why are you so determined to see them in Azkaban?"

Apoplectic with rage, Abbott hissed, "My wife. Do you _know_ what they _did_ to her?"

Kingsley's eyes narrowed slightly, and he said, "Nothing, Abbott. The Malfoys did nothing to your wife." He folded his arms over his chest and strode forward.

"Your wife was killed by Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. The Malfoys did not kill her. The Malfoys were not even there when she died."

Abbott clenched his hands into fists. "How dare you…?"

"How dare I?" Kingsley repeated incredulously, and this time he did raise his voice. "You have been so determined to ruin the lives of the three Malfoys that you are blinded to everything around you. Even Harry Potter will tell anyone who asks that the Malfoys are not guilty of treason."

"That is not…"

"Narcissa Malfoy saved his life," Kingsley continued furiously, breathlessly. "In the Forbidden Forest, she lied to Voldemort, told him that Harry was dead, and that is the only reason that Harry managed to survive for as long as he did. Long enough to end this war, to vanquish Voldemort. If the Wizengamot has declared her absolved of past crimes, who are you to decide differently?"

"They are wrong! Potter is wrong!" Abbott retorted fiercely, eyes glowing with hatred.

"Going against the Wizengamot is not a decision one person alone gets to make," Kingsley countered. He did not like many of the Ministry employees, particularly the ones with the most power. He had despised Fudge and only barely tolerated Scrimgeour. Amos Diggory had been a good man, but Hannigan had been one of the worst to hold the de-facto position.

But he did recognize the importance of the Ministry. And the Wizengamot. He recognized the importance of a body of people who made the rules and regulations, defined the laws of conduct, and imposed the necessary penalties. Going against that was acceptable in a few rare desperate situations – such as when the Ministry had been denying the return of Lord Voldemort or when they had actually been controlled by the Dark Lord – but otherwise it was not something that should be done lightly.

He had done it, by agreeing to meet with Snape. And he was willing to face the consequences of his actions. But Abbott… Abbott was not willing to do that. He might believe that he was doing what was best for the world, as Kingsley had believed of his own actions, but he was not willing to hear any other point of view besides his own. He was not willing to accept responsibility for what he had done.

And that was the difference between the two wizards.

"You arrogant fool…"

"You're blinded by hatred," Kingsley said, noting abruptly that the door to his office was still open, and the conversation was being witnessed by several employees, including a few Aurors and Madam Borealis three other members of the Wizengamot. He ignored them, however, and focused back on Abbott. "Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix Lestrange, so you never got your own chance at revenge. Your wife is dead, and because of that, you're looking for someone else's life to destroy. This isn't really about the Malfoys, because you could have picked anyone. They just happened to be the easiest target. And this isn't even about Snape, or what happened to Amos and Minerva. You don't care about that. You would have taken any reason to target them, any reason at all. Again, this just happened to be the convenient one."

"They are scum! They deserve…"

"They are many things," Kingsley said mildly. "But you do not get to decide what they deserve. When will you learn that ruining someone else's life will never fix your own?"

There was a flash of light, and Kingsley blinked rapidly before he realized it was a camera. How long had the reporter and the cameraman been in the hallway? How much had they overheard? Would this find its way into the media's three-ring-circus? Quite probably. In fact, Kingsley could almost see the headlines on the next morning's paper.

"You are wrong," Abbott said through clenched teeth. "I don't care what Potter says. I don't care what that article says. You _are_ wrong. And you have no right to speak to me like this. You've done plenty without consent from the Ministry."

Kingsley inclinded his head, accepting the truth in that statement. "I did. But I didn't do it with hatred and fury. I didn't do it with the single goal of ruining another's life. And I am willing to own up to my actions. When will you take responsibility for yours?"

"When I see you rotting in Azkaban," Abbott answered in a low whisper, and he stormed from the room.


	37. The More They'll Never Be the Same

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So here is, at long last, the confrontation between Snape and Harry. For all those who were hoping for something that offered a reconciliation… sorry. This chapter isn't going to fix everything. It will make progress, though...

Summary: For the first time ever, he was looking at Snape. _Really_ looking, and he wanted to know what he would see. He wanted to know what was there.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter_

_Not all those who wander are lost_

Chapter Thirty-Six: …The More They'll Never Be the Same

When he entered the room and saw Harry Potter standing by the window, he thought with a sarcastic snort that rules clearly did not apply to the Boy Who Lived. Mere civilians were never allowed to visit prisoners in Azkaban, unless they were family. And even then, they often had to have ties with someone in power at the Ministry to manage an unsupervised visit like this one.

For a moment, then, Snape wondered if he hadn't gone insane. Had he been at Azkaban much longer? Perhaps it had been years already, and Potter was now an Auror? After all, time meant little to him here, and he had no way of marking the passing of each moment.

Potter turned from the window, and Snape looked at him. Really looked at him. The resemblance to his father was uncanny. There were few, Snape reflected, who looked that similar to either one of their parents, and yet if Potter's eyes had been a different color, he could have been mistaken for his father.

But those eyes…

Lily's eyes.

All those years, he had looked at Lily's eyes. All those years, he had watched those eyes stare back at him, had seen them filled with hatred, with disgust, with fury. And now, as he looked at them one more, and saw the blatant confusion and frustration in them, he felt something constrict around his heart, squeezing until he could barely breathe.

But when he spoke, his words were simple, smooth, and filled with his trademark drawl. "Potter. I hardly expected to find you here." He walked further into the room, and the Aurors who had brought him from his cell stepped back and left the room. He knew they would be positioned on either side of the door, ready to burst in at a moment's notice.

Still, it amazed him that they did not feel the need to restrain him with chains or ropes in the presence of their Savior. Were they not afraid that he would attack Potter? Or did they simply assume that the boy was strong enough to hold his own? After all, Potter had a wand. Potter had not spent time in Azkaban. Potter probably could have bested him in a duel.

The thought made him sick to his stomach, but that was just one more emotion he did not let show on his face.

"Hannigan is in prison," the boy said, walking towards the table. "So are Runcorn and Yaxley. Kinglsey has been released, but he's still waiting to see what the final consequences will be." He leaned against the table, hands spread out on the wood in front of him, and said, "Andromeda testified on your behalf."

Snape curled his lip. "Fascinating," he said coldly, feigning disinterest.

Potter wouldn't meet his gaze. He was staring instead at the ground, as though the gray stone might yield some answers. "I know why you did it," he said, and his voice was a low murmur. "I know…" and then he stopped, trailed off.

Briefly, he lifted his gaze to meet Snape's, and then he looked away.

"Does the why matter to you, Potter?" Snape asked harshly. He wouldn't sit, not until Potter had. He would not give the boy an advantage of height. So though he was nearly shaking with exhaustion and longed to sink onto the chair before him, he remained standing, forcing himself to appear calm.

"You loved my mother," he said. His eyes had now moved to the table. They had narrowed slightly, as though he could not quite conceal the dislike he felt, and though he was determined not to glare at the other wizard, he had no qualms about sending a glower towards the table.

Snape rolled his eyes at that. When would the boy learn to keep his emotions guarded? Any fool could read him like an open book, and it didn't even require Legilimancy.

Aloud, he said, "Why have you come? I highly doubt that it is for this scintillating conversation."

"You loved my mother," Potter said again, but this time he continued, "and yet you still joined the Death Eaters. You still joined a group of people who you _knew_ were opposed to Muggleborn witches and wizards, who wanted them all dead."

Snape said nothing. It wasn't a question, and he felt no need to answer it. Let the boy wonder. He had wondered about a lot of things in his life, and he would continue to do so. No one was ever given all the answers, and one day he would have to accept that fact of life.

But though he did not have to answer the question aloud, it was a question that he still strove to answer for himself. He could say that he did not know the truth about the Death Eaters, he could say that he never believed that they would turn so evil, but those would be mere lies.

Harry Potter might not deserve anything more than silence, but Lily still deserved an answer.

Unfortunately, he did not have one to give.

He'd never had an answer, not to that one, very pertinent question. If he had been able to answer it, maybe he wouldn't have been foolish enough to join the Death Eaters in the first place. Maybe things would be different. Maybe _he_ would be different.

Maybe Lily would still be alive.

The boy was speaking again, and Snape forced himself to pay attention to those words, to focus on what was being said.

"I mean, I know you hated my father, but did you really hate him enough to want him _dead_?"

Black eyes narrowed as Snape retorted in an acidic tone, "Do you really think that your saintly father would have grieved for me?" The words were bitter and filled with pain from a dark and tormented past, a past that Snape had no desire to share with the boy. And, after all, the truthful answer to Potter's question was not one that he would actually want to hear.

Snape wasted no emotion on James Potter's death.

There were points in his life when he actively wished harm upon his messy-haired rival. Perhaps he might have even childishly wished for the wizard to meet an untimely death. Certainly when he realized that the Dark Lord meant to kill Lily, his thoughts had been for the red-haired witch, and not her husband. Even the imminent danger to her child had not really registered with him. It was not until Dumbledore so harshly pointed out that he was ignoring them that he fully realized they would be killed as well.

He despised James Potter.

But now that he fully understood what death meant, he could not honestly say that he would have wished it on the arrogant, cocky, conceited wizard.

And yet, this was a war, and people died, and though Snape felt a trace of remorse for the death of James Potter, he did not grieve. Not the way he grieved for Lily, for Dumbledore, for Minerva. Grief he saved for those he respected, those he loved. He could not spare emotion for every single person that ever died, and certainly not for those who had done nothing but torment him during his life.

He looked away from the green-eyed Harry Potter. He regretted any unnecessary death. And God knows he had seen a lot of death in the past few decades. But it was not the answer the boy would have wanted to hear, and he did not bother to say it all aloud.

"Why did you join our side?" Potter asked. "I don't understand how you could have turned on my mother. I don't understand why you would have wanted to be a Death Eater. But you did all of that, so then… why did you come back?"

"If you cannot determine the answer to that from what you have seen and heard, then you are even more idiotic than your father," Snape sneered.

"If Voldemort hadn't targeted me, would you still be on his side?" the boy questioned softly. "If my mother had never been in any danger, would you have ever… would you still be killing, torturing, maiming… Did you ever care about what was right and what was wrong?"

Snape stiffened, then said sharply, "This world is not so easily divided. Only you foolish Gryffindors think that right and wrong are always blatantly obvious. Everything is always gray."

The boy gave a bitter laugh and pulled out the chair in front of him. It scraped against the floor, a squeaky, high-pitched noise that echoed back and forth against the stone walls. He flopped into it, almost as though he were collapsing against the weight of his questions.

"That's not true," he said, his words simple. He still wasn't looking at Snape, but when he spoke, his words were firm and uncompromising. "Not everything is gray. There's a lot of it, but… some things are clearly right. And some are clearly wrong. And that doesn't change, no matter what."

Snape honestly wasn't sure what annoyed him more – the fact that the boy had the naïveté of a child, or that he was perfectly content with what he believed.

He pulled out his own chair and sat down stiffly, thankful that he had somehow managed to keep from collapsing on the floor. The exhaustion that seeped through his body turned his limbs to lead and left him feeling sluggish. But his mind moved quickly, sharply, and he sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that this God-forsaken prison had not yet stolen his sanity.

"You hated me. I hadn't done anything to you, and you _hated_ me. Why?" Potter folded his arms over his chest and chewed his lip for a moment, the words lingering in the silence between them.

The conversation was jumping around, moving sporadically from one topic to the next. Snape blinked and accepted the accusation, watching as Potter's face grew darker, and his lowered eyes simmered with anger and frustration.

"You picked on me at the beginning of the very first class. You mocked me when I couldn't answer questions on a subject we hadn't even started yet. You took a point off because of something Neville did, something that was in no way my fault. You accused me of letting him screw up so that I would make myself look good. Why? Why did you hate me so much?"

Though he would never actually admit it, Snape was slightly impressed that the boy actually recalled the events of that class so clearly. It was nearly ten years ago.

He opened his mouth to answer the question, a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue. But then Potter lifted his gaze, finally looked up and met his eyes for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, and they were filled with a look of hurt, of betrayal, of anger, of resignation…

A look identical to the one worn by Lily that fateful day by the lake when the word _Mudblood_ had slipped from his tongue.

And everything else around Snape fell away, until all he could see were those eyes.

Lily's eyes.

* * *

Part of him didn't want to be here.

Facing Snape was not easy. He hadn't really expected it to be easy, but he also hadn't expected it to be this difficult.

For the past few years, the mere mention of Snape had brought out the worst in him. The search for the Horcruxes had slowly mellowed his impatience. They'd all changed during that year, though for Ron and himself the change was more obvious than for Hermione. But they'd all changed, and his biggest lesson had been the importance of keeping his temper under control.

He'd done it, too. Since then, he'd rarely lashed out in frustration, forgoing the temperament that had characterized most of his fifth year. But his continual search for the potions Master, his refusal to let go of the past… _that_ had remained, despite Hermione's words of caution and reprimanding stares.

And since starting this last search, what had he done?

He'd used some Dark magic on Malfoy, some spell he could not even name. It hadn't been intentional, but it had burst out of him all the same, his anger and rage at Malfoy's mocking words giving him the ability to call on powers he didn't even realize he had.

He'd recklessly interrupted whatever meeting Kinglsey and Snape had planned on the ground of Hogwarts, and gotten himself stunned and disarmed in the process. Then he had just as recklessly followed Hannigan into the dungeon basement and found himself thrown into a battle that had cost the Headmistress her life.

He knew the importance of thinking through his actions prior to actually acting. He also knew there were times when one had to act _without_ thinking, when there was little choice. When right and wrong were obvious enough, and there was no time to dwell on anything else but that moment and the consequences of it.

That knowledge had sent him after Runcorn and Yaxley in southern France, and again forced him to follow Yaxley and Malfoy back to Hogwarts.

It was also what had pushed him onwards when he walked with his parents' ghost-like spirits into the Forbidden Forest, ready to die so that the final Horcrux would be removed and Voldemort would be rendered mortal once more.

But there were times when he should have stopped, if only for a few seconds, to think about what he was doing.

He looked at Snape.

Really looked at him. And tried to see past his own prejudices, how own anger and hatred and fury. It wasn't easy, and he knew he was staring intently at the other wizard, letting an awkward silence fill the room. But he didn't care.

For the first time ever, he was looking at Snape. _Really_ looking, and he wanted to know what he would see. He wanted to know what was there.

And he wanted to know what Snape saw when the potions Master looked at _him_.

He rested his hands flat out on the table, palms pressing into the wood. The world was gray. He knew that. He'd always known that. Snape had been right to make that argument.

But he'd been wrong also. There were right choices and wrong choices. And sometimes the answers were obvious, is people were willing to look. _Really_ look.

Snape was speaking, answering Harry's earlier question. "You were a fool to take your eyes off of Longbottom for even a moment," he said callously.

Something constricted sharply around Harry's chest. Was this all he would get? Bitter words and insults, thinly veiled dislike and disgust? He'd hoped for more, for some sort of understanding and closure, but maybe that had been asking for too much. He wasn't even sure what understanding would look like when it came.

He did not avert his gaze, did not look away and pretend that the words did not hurt him. If his emotions showed in his eyes, he did not care. Snape had often told him during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons that those who wore their heart on their sleeve would find that their enemies had an easier time ripping it away from them. But at this point, he didn't care. At this point, he had a feeling that even with the most guarded of expressions, he would not be able to truly hide.

"That's not what you said," Harry said finally, forcing the words out, forcing himself to continue speaking. The air in the room around him seemed to be getting colder and he wondered vaguely if a Dementor had come drifting close to the door.

Snape lazily lifted one eyebrow.

"You accused me of letting him screw up on purpose so that it would make me look good," Harry explained, heat rushing to his face as he recalled that first potions class.

There was a look in Snape's eyes that he couldn't decipher.

"What made you think that? You hadn't ever met me, and you automatically assumed that I would let someone else screw up – and get hurt – just to make myself look better?" he pressed, and now that the words were stumbling from his lips, he wasn't sure he could get them to stop. Snape _hadn't_ been fair to him, not for all his years at Hogwarts. He'd stopped expecting it at some point, although that didn't really make it any easier to bear.

Neville had been covered in boils after that disastrous potion brewing attempt, and the others around him, Seamus included, were lucky to have escaped without injury.

Harry had been eleven. He'd been bullied and beaten too much by Dudley and the rest of that gang, and he would never have deliberately done that to someone. Things changed as he got older – he changed as he got older – and he'd made mistakes, done things that he shouldn't have, things that had ended up hurting other people. Most of it had been unintentional, the result of anger, of an uncontrolled temper.

But at eleven? He wouldn't have even though of that. Hurting Neville in some misguided attempt to make himself look like a better potions maker would simply not have occurred to him.

Snape was still looking at him, his expression completely devoid of any identifiable emotion.

He shivered, and this time, he did look away.

* * *

When Potter finally averted his gaze, it was almost easier for Snape. He'd forgotten just how much power those green eyes had over him. He hadn't seen the boy in a long time, and the memory of Lily's eyes staring at him with hate and disgust had almost faded.

Almost.

He'd made mistakes in his life. He'd made more significant mistakes than many others had, and he'd done more significant repentance. And though it was rare that he would ever admit aloud when he did something wrong, particularly if the only other person in the room was Potter, that did not stop him from admitting it to himself.

He'd looked at the eleven-year-old Harry Potter and seen James.

James Potter would not have cared if his classmate ended up looking like a fool. In fact, he might have found the entire situation funny, and had a good laugh with Black about what had happened to Longbottom later after the class was over.

But Harry Potter was not his father.

And, unfortunately, the boy was right about his anger. In this particular instance, Snape knew he had been wrong in his assumption.

Still, he did not answer the question, and maybe that didn't really matter. Potter started speaking again, anyway.

"Did you ever care about anything besides my mother?"

He snorted. The boy had once again changed subjects, as though he could not stick to any particular topic for an extended period of time.

"Did you ever…" Potter trailed off and looked away, unconsciously lifting a hand to run it through his hair. It wasn't exactly the same gesture that James had often done, but it was close, and Snape felt his hands unconsciously clench underneath the table.

In looks and in mannerisms, Potter far too much resembled his father.

Then the boy shook his head and said bitterly, "But of course, why would you? You don't believe in right and wrong."

That was the challenge of being a spy to a sadistic Dark Lord. Right and wrong became blurred when the right action necessarily required keeping up appearances of being wrong. Sometimes the lines disappeared all together, but there was no way to explain that to Potter. There was no way that he could fully grasp all the subtleties of a life filled with gray.

"You loved my mother."

This time, he did answer. "Yes." There was really no point in denying it, not when the boy had heard the full recounting of Andromeda's story.

Potter gave him a quick look, then lowered his gaze back to the table. "And she was the only reason you came back? What would have happened if…"

"Why does it matter to you, Potter?" he sneered, shaking his head as black eyes focused on the boy. "I did what I did. What do you care about the hypotheticals?"

Potter said nothing.

Snape was content to let the silence rest between them. He had other concerns. Potter had informed him of the fate of several players in this game, but what about the three Malfoys? What had happened to them? He almost asked, but then stopped himself. It wouldn't help to know, not how when he was in no position to do anything about it. He'd done all he could to help Narcissa, and if that hadn't been enough… well, what more could he really do?

The anger of that thought rushed through him, but he ignored it. He had spent years being helpless, being forced to stand by and watch as others died, others that he could have saved. Keeping his cover as a spy had been all that mattered at the time, and yet it never grew easier, never became more bearable, watching yet another Muggle or Muggleborn die, tortured by the gleefully cackling Death Eaters.

"I'm trying to understand," Potter said finally in a clipped tone.

Snape nearly laughed. "Are you?" he drawled coolly. "And _what_ are you trying to understand?"

"Everything!" the boy exploded, red splotches of anger appearing on his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, and then suddenly he was on is feet, shoving the chair away from him in a rush of anger. It skidded onto its back two legs, hovering for a moment before crashing to the floor.

The noise could obviously be heard in the hallway outside the room, and the door was opened quickly, and Auror sticking his head into the room, wand held out in front of him.

Potter sent him a pointed look, and he withdrew, shutting the door behind him.

Snape remained impassive, watching and waiting.

"How could you?" Potter whispered finally, turning away from Snape and walking to the window. "Did you ever… did you ever care about me? Did you ever stop seeing me as… as my father?"

And with those few words, Snape found himself impressed against his will. It was the first time he had heard Potter admit that his father was not a saint. Perhaps the boy had finally grown up enough to see past his own preconceptions and accept the painful truth that his hero wasn't always so virtuous.

Then, for some reason he couldn't quite figure out, a memory slipped into his mind. Potter, facing the Dark Lord, had asked the most vile wizard who ever lived to see if he could repent. He'd offered a way out, offered a second chance to someone who most certainly didn't deserve it.

And the fact of the matter was that Harry Potter was not like his father. He could, on occasion, be arrogant. But he did not strut about as though he owned the castle, he did not mock the less fortunate students, and he did not pull dangerous or humiliating pranks for fun.

He was far more like Lily than his father.

Except that he continually gave second changes. He risked his own life to pull Draco out of the burning Room of Requirement. He offered the Dark Lord a chance to repent. And now he was here, facing Snape, asking for an explanation, for answers, for anything that could somehow ease the enmity between them. He forgave, even when it seemed completely ludicrous to do so. He offered a chance to people who never asked for it, probably didn't deserve, certainly wouldn't know what to do with it...

He offered another chance, and in the end, that was something that even Lily hadn't been able to bring herself to do.

Snape leaned back in his seat, black eyes focused on the boy. "Yes," he said simply. Potter narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Snape elaborated, "I stopped seeing you as your father."

Potter stared at him for a moment, and his expression was entirely unreadable. Snape had the strangest sensation that even Legilimancy would not reveal what thoughts were passing beneath those green eyes.

The Potter said softly, "Alright," and walked to the door. He paused, looking back, one hand resting on the knob. It seemed as if there was something more he wanted to say, something else to fill the empty silence between them. But then he looked away and left the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

He wasn't unhappy to see her. But he wasn't really happy about it, either.

He was rarely unhappy to see Luna, but sometimes her presence was grating. Sometimes he didn't want to be faced with her blunt declarations, her ability to observe and decipher anything she saw before her. He'd never met anyone as perceptive as her, and yet somehow he'd also never met anyone as oblivious as her. She was an odd set of contradictions, and often she was just too much to handle.

But she had the annoying habit of not knocking, or of knocking and then not bothering to wait for someone to answer the door, which made her even more problematic to avoid.

Harry glanced up and offered her a smile. She floated into the room as she always did, a dreamy smile and a wandering gaze traveling over everything.

And then she started rambling about Crumpled This and Two-Horned That and Flying Something-Or-Others and he fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he looked away from her, towards the dreary gray clouds that floated lazily across the gloomy sky.

"You went to Azkaban today."

Harry looked back to Luna, surprised by the change in her tone. The odd, feather-light quality of her voice was gone, and she looked serious. Truly serious, and it was the first time he had ever seen her with that expression on her features.

"I did."

"What happened?"

Harry considered the question for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't really know," he admitted honestly. And he didn't know. He had no idea what to make of his conversation with Snape, no idea how to judge what had passed between them.

Luna looked towards the window. "You used Dark Magic before."

Harry nodded wordlessly. "I did," he agreed. There was no point in denying it, because Luna knew. He'd told her the truth before, and besides, she had the unique ability to see through most lies.

"People think I'm rather odd," Luna remarked casually, glancing over at Harry once more. "You know they call me Loony?"

Harry nodded bleakly, remembering that Ron had often called her that, and he had silently agreed with his best mate. He'd tried to be nice to her, but still… he had thought she was a complete lunatic the first time they met.

"You were nice to me, though," Luna continued, musing more to herself than to Harry. "And you know, that made some people nicer. But it made others meaner. A lot of the girls especially didn't like it. Like when you invited me to Slughorn's party. They were jealous, and they didn't think I heard the things they said, but I did. I heard them."

"I wasn't… I didn't mean… I was just… um…" Harry stammered for the appropriate response, unsure how to reply. Should he express sorrow or pity for how she was treated by the other students? Should he apologize for inviting her to that party, for being friends with her? She he just accept what she was saying with a silent nod?

That seemed to be the easiest solution. So he nodded and waited for her to continue.

"But I didn't mind that people were mean to me because of you. You were my friend. And I liked having friends."

He remembered abruptly the portraits he had seen in her room, the chains connecting them, the links that spelled out the word _friend_ over and over.

"You're a good person. Sometimes people do bad things. Sometimes they do unforgivable things. Sometimes, in a war, they have to. But that doesn't mean the person is unforgivable. Just the action. Just what they had to do."

Harry licked his dry lips and nodded again.

"And sometimes people do bad things because they are mad, or upset, or hurt." She paused, thinking, and added, "Or because they're jealous. Like the girls who hid my homework. And my shoes." Then she gave a little shrug and said, "It doesn't mean they are a bad person. But you have to look at them. You have to really look, and you have to be willing to see. That's how I know that using Dark Magic didn't make you a bad person."

She settled herself into the sofa across from the fire place and pulled out a copy of the Quibbler from her robes, flipping it upside-down and beginning to study one of the articles with an intense concentration. Harry stared at her for a moment, watching her read, and then realized that she hadn't been talking only about him.

She'd been referring to Snape as well.


	38. Round and Round We Go

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: The rest of the wizarding world slowly moves forward, struggling to fix what can be fixed and accept all the things that cannot.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Round and Round We Go

He knew the peace and quiet was too good to last. After all, no one just stopped going to work for an extended period of time without any notice, without asking permission, without at least telling someone what was happening. Even with all the chaos currently surrounding the Ministry… someone was going to notice his absence. And someone would be less than happy about it.

The letter came early in the morning, and the owl wrapped its talons against the window with an impatient air. Percy stumbled, still half-asleep, from his bed and shoved open the window, allowing the bird entry.

He wished he was still asleep.

Sometimes his sleep was filled with nightmares. The occasional memory of Penny dying that haunted him, forever taunting him, a reminder of everything he could not do, everyone he could not save. Sometimes it was Fred instead, and those nightmares surprised him because he honestly did not realize just how much guilt lingered behind after his brother's death.

But mostly the dreams were pleasant. Mostly, the dream world was filled with soft, gentle slumber, with happy memories, with a sense of safety and warmth, as though he was protected from all the ills around him.

A protection that disappeared as he groggily blinked his tired eyes and felt the full force of reality slam into him, taking away his breath.

Every morning, he would awake to the harsh reality of Penny's death, and it felt like losing her all over again.

He took the letter from the owl and it hooted and flew off into the early morning light. Some sixth sense told him what it was before he had even opened it, and so he was not at all surprised to find a brief, rather curt note reminding him that Ministry employees were required to get approval for their absence.

He crumpled the note in his fist, feeling the parchment bend underneath his frustration.

He knew the rules. Penny wasn't family, and Ministry employees were allowed only a very limited number of days for mourning the passing of a non-family member. It didn't matter that he loved Penny, it didn't matter that she was the only family he had really had during the horrible estrangement from his parents and siblings. It didn't matter that he missed her with every single particle in his entire being… She wasn't family under the Ministry's strict interpretation of relationships, and he was expected to be back at work by now.

Particularly if he wanted to keep his job.

The thinly veiled threat of the letter was more than blatantly obvious, but how could he think about something as mundane as work right now?

He groaned, and sank back into his bed.

* * *

Aurora Borealis hated her name. She absolutely despised the fact that she was named after a natural phenomenon. It seemed trite, almost, to compare anyone, least of all an ordinary and plain-looking witch, to the spectacular northern lights.

Of course, with the family name Borealis, it was a given that there would be someone named Aurora in every generation, and since all of her siblings and cousins were boys, she had been the one unlucky enough to receive the dreaded name.

She didn't like seeing it written, either. Hearing it pronounced was bad enough, but at least then she could rest assured that most people would simply refer to her either as Madam Borealis, or as Aurora if they were a close friend or family member, and so she avoided the full name. In writing…

In writing, every single reporter seemed determined to give her the full name.

She glared at the Daily Prophet article, at her ridiculous name splashed in black ink.

She'd known it was only a matter of time before the mainstream newspaper reacted to Rita Skeeter's article in the Quibbler. She'd already received hundred of letters from the wizarding world, form those who believed what Potter had written and those who didn't. The row between Shacklebolt and Abbott, much of which had been overheard by reporters and other Ministry workers, had also reached the rumor mill, and gossip was flying quite quickly.

The article was really less of an article and more of an opinion piece, commentary directed primarily towards her. She knew she was in the best position to influence the Ministry at the moment, and given that the organization was floating about like a rudderless ship, she could not deny that her influence was needed.

The article called for her to release the Malfoys from Azkaban and hold a full trial for Severus Snape. Which meant that, tomorrow, there would be more letters piled on her desk, waiting for her. Letter telling her to ignore this article, letters telling her to listen and proceed as quickly as possible with the advice the reporter had given. Letters from every side, each instructing her on how to act…

She smoothed the folded newspaper with one hand and stared at it thoughtfully, then pushed it aside. Unfortunately, politics would play a significant role in how the situation was handled, but she did not want to be pulled into any unnecessary skirmishes.

Potter had already announced his opinion, clearly laid forth his allegiances. And Potter carried more sway with the rest of the world than even he seemed to realize.

"Abbott is seething."

She looked up at nodded towards the man who stood in the doorway to her office. "I imagined as much," she admitted slowly, a little reluctantly. "He certainly would not like the position of this particular article." And she tapped her fingers idly against the paper.

The man entered the room. "Hannigan is in Azkaban. Diggory and Headmistress McGonagall are dead. And no one is entirely sure what to make of Shacklebolt at the moment. That leaves you, Potter, and Abbott as the most powerful and influential members of society."

Madam Borealis pursed her lips. "I'd rather not do anything too hasty. Influence can waver, Auror Bello."

Augustus Bello, the Head of the Auror Training Program, nodded in agreement as he took a seat across from Madam Borealis. "Indeed it can. Shacklebolt is a prime example of that." He paused, thinking, then continued, "I had a lot of respect for him, you know. I suppose I still do, but its harder to know quite what to think now."

Madam Borealis sighed. "You have influence, too."

"Quite a few people do," the Auror agreed readily. "It isn't quite as clear-cut as saying that you three have all the power. But you have a lot of it. Enough…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but she knew what he was saying. She had enough authority that, if she chose to side with either Potter or Abbott, she could force that point of view to prevail. She doubted she would ever be able to completely override Potter's influence, and so even if she decided that she agreed with Abbott's view of the situation, the Malfoys would probably still be released from prison. But Snape would stay there, if she wanted, and Shacklebolt could be stripped of his Auror credentials.

But she didn't agree with Abbott.

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure she entirely agreed with Potter, either.

Her indecision must have shown on her face, because Bello said with a wry smile, "When I gave Potter leave from the Auror Training Program, I hoped his hunt for Snape would help him find some sort of closure. He had hoped that as well, I know, and I thought if he found it… he'd be less rash. Less… less unable to listen to others, to take orders."

"And?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I honestly can't tell. He certainly seems more mature, given that he is actually arguing to have the Malfoys released from Azkaban."

"And he seems to even want a trial for Snape," she murmured.

Bello nodded, but then said seriously, "This won't end easily. It won't end without a struggle. But it _will_ end. And you can't stay in the middle forever. Life doesn't work like that, and neither do politics."

* * *

Even after all these years, Neville still felt slightly disconcerted when he discovered all the things the Golden Trio did without actually telling him. He had always assumed that, given the fact that he had been in the same year as all three of them and shared a dormitory with Ron and Harry, he would just somehow know what was happening in their lives. Wasn't that the way friendship was supposed to work?

Still, he mused to himself, he probably should have learned some time ago that they would always be off on some crazy adventure he didn't know anything about. Quirrell and the Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, whatever it was that happened with Black in their third year… and so on and so on.

And yet, he still found himself quite surprised to read in the newspaper all that Harry and his two friends had done in the past several days.

"It's strange, isn't it?" a voice said, breaking timidly into his thoughts, and he started and whipped around, crumbling the newspaper in one hand as he did so.

"What's strange?" he asked, blinking in surprise as he found himself staring at the blonde-haired, pale-eyed Hannah Abbott.

She gestured to the article he was reading with a casual wave of her hand. "We've left Hogwarts and the war is over, and yet somehow, the three of them are still doing all these crazy things. It's like nothing's changed."

Neville smiled and answered simply, "They can have the adventures. I think I prefer peace and quiet. I've had enough fighting to last me a very long time."

Hannah laughed, but the amusement did not reach her eyes. "I know, I feel quite the same," she admitted.

They were standing in Diagon Alley, on the twisting, turning cobblestone path that wound through the crowded shops. Some passersby would occasionally slant quick looks at Neville, appraising gazes in their eyes. Others would actually stop and stare, gawking. It happened infrequently enough that it never really bothered the pureblood wizard, but Hannah was frowning in obvious confusion.

"Does that always happen?" she murmured as one young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, stood completely still for about five seconds and gaped at Neville until her parents shooed her away.

"Not always," Neville replied, shaking his head with a bemused grin. "It's nowhere near as bad as what Harry, Ron, and Hermione get."

Hannah nodded slowly. "So what brings you to Diagon Alley?"

Neville shrugged. "Just a few items to buy. What about you?"

"I'm meeting my father," she said, and this time there was a definite lack of enthusiasm in her voice. She wasn't looking at Neville as she continued, "We have tea together every now and then. To… um… catch-up on everything, I suppose."

Neville narrowed his eyes slightly, but said nothing. He knew very little about Jonathon Abbott, but none of it was particularly favorable. Hannah was likeable enough, sweet-tempered and pleasant, if occasionally far more hesitant than she really should have been, and Neville found himself wondering how she had turned out so different from her stubborn and short-tempered father.

He'd heard the rumors currently circulating through the wizarding world, heard the whispered comments about how power-hungry Abbott was, and how vicious. They were tempered by other gossip, statements calling Madam Borealis a fool for even considering the Malfoys' innocence, cries for vengeance due to the deaths of Diggory and the Headmistress.

"It is nice that your father has time to have tea with you," he said finally, when it became clear that Hannah was waiting for some sort of response from him. "He must be very busy at the moment."

"He is," Hannah agreed.

"Do you see him often?"

She flushed, a slight red tinge appearing on her cheeks. "Not often, no," she answered faintly, glancing at him quickly and then looking away. "He _is_ busy."

"So I've read," Neville agreed in a mutter, gaze moving back to the newspaper for a moment.

"He wasn't always like that," she said hurriedly, gaze snapping to his face in a defensive gesture. "He used to be different, before… before my mother died…" She stopped then, trailing off quickly as though realizing that she and Neville weren't really anything more than friendly acquaintances and perhaps this wasn't something she wanted to share with him.

It was interesting, Neville noted silently, that she wasn't actually trying to defend his actions, to claim that he was right. It was clear that there was a lot of tension between father and daughter, tension and unease. He felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the girl, given that she had lost her mother to the Death Eaters and her father to his own need for revenge.

"Anyway," Hannah said softly, "I'd better go. I'll see you around, Neville."

"See you, Hannah," he responded, and watched in silence until she had disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked as he poked his head into Ron's bedroom.

The redhead groaned and sat up in bed. "Hermione's been driving me mad," he complained. "I think Mum got her to promise that she won't leave me alone for more than a few minutes at a time."

Harry laughed and entered the room, closing the door behind him. "You know, you were at St. Mungo's for a while," he said pointedly.

"Yes, and the Healer _released_ me," Ron grumbled.

"Yes, but at least you're finally back at the flat. That must be preferable to being at the Burrow where everyone could fuss over you constantly," Harry said logically, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

Ron grinned, "I suppose. What about you, mate? How was the talk with Snape?"

Harry shrugged, his expression becoming closed and guarded. "I don't know, I guess. Still trying to figure that out." He looked away from Ron for a moment, gathering his thoughts together carefully, then added, "Luna was here for a bit before you came."

Ron's grin widened and he shook his head and chortled, "Interesting conversation, I take it?"

"Isn't it always?" Harry replied with his own faint smile.

"How about the Malfoys? Any news on what's going to happen with them?"

Harry nodded and said, "Actually, yes. Decision was just announced this afternoon. Aurora Borealis – she's the head of the Wizangamot, remember – had them released from Azkaban. They're being tracked, or something like that. The Aurors put some following device on them to make sure they don't try to run. They'll probably get a trial later. I guess you could say they're out on bail now."

Ron blinked. "Bail?"

"Oh… it's a Muggle thing," Harry said, waiving away Ron's question. He didn't particularly want to delve into the details for his friend, so he lapsed into silence instead.

"Why aren't they having the trial now?" Ron asked, leaning forward curiously, eyebrows raised.

"They've been cleared of all charges for any crimes committed during the war," Harry answered, "so their only crime now is not revealing Snape's location for the past couple years. First the Wizengamot needs to try Snape. If they don't find him guilty of treason – or if they let him off with a smaller conviction – then they won't have a trial for the Malfoys. There won't be a point, since they can't be accused of helping a criminal if Snape isn't found guilty."

"That's what they're waiting for with Kingsley, also?" Ron questioned.

Harry nodded. "Yes. They're probably going to charge him with working with Snape – but again, they can't do that until Snape is found guilty. _If_ he's found guilty. So it's all just waiting on his trial."

"I'm surprised they're having a trial for him," Ron admitted slowly. "And so soon after your article. I thought it would take longer than that."

Harry couldn't help but agree. He, too, had been astounded to discover that Madam Borealis had opted to convene an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot to discuss the case. He did not know how the trial would proceed – would they question Snape again, or rely on what they had already learned from Andromeda and the Aurors who had interrogated the potions Master? Would it be open to the public, another spectacle for reporters, or would they hold a closed session and make a quick decision?

"I guess it is a good thing, though?" Ron ventured.

Harry shrugged and did not answer. He still didn't know exactly how to feel about the potions Master, and he didn't want to dwell on those thoughts. Not yet, not until he'd had more time to come to terms with everything he had learned…

The sound of footsteps in the room signaled the arrival of someone else, and Ron groaned and attempted to pull the covers of his bed up over his face. "If that's Hermione, tell her I'm asleep."

"I heard that, Ronald Weasley," Hermione's outraged voice drifted to them through the closed door, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Narcissa was remarkably unsurprised to find Andromeda waiting for her when she returned home from her short trip to Azkaban, but she was also completely disinterested in speaking to her older sister. So her lips turned down into a frown of displeasure as she caught sight of her sister sitting quietly in an armchair as the Aurors accompanied herself, Lucius, and Draco into their parlor.

The Aurors nodded and withdrew quietly, although she knew they were only leaving the Manor, and would probably remain outside during the night, setting up surveillance wards.

Lucius took one look at the frown on his wife's face and said, "I will leave you two to your own discussion. Come, Draco." And the two blonde wizards swept from the parlor, leaving Narcissa and Andromeda alone.

The time in Azkaban, and the worry for her family's safety, had taken a toll on Narcissa, and she found she did not care for manners or for proper decorum. She stared hard at Andromeda and said simply, "What do you want?"

Andromeda rose to her feet and ran a hand along her robes, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Only to reassure myself that you were returned safely from Azkaban," she answered quietly.

"Obviously, I was," Narcissa said curtly, extending her arms as though to display her own wellbeing. She turned away from her sister and walked towards the window, glancing up at the gray sky. "You may go now."

"Narcissa…" Andromeda started, and then stopped, sighing. Narcissa was still proud, far too proud for her own good, and Andromeda had a feeling that it would be nearly impossible to get through to the blonde witch. But they were still family, and right now Andromeda had precious little family as it was, she did not want to walk away from this without at least saying something. Anything.

"What?" Narcissa asked sharply, giving her sister a cold look. "Are you here for my gratitude? Very well, then, I am thankful that you decided to testify, even if your words were partially responsible for sending my son and I to Azkaban. I recognize the fact that they were intended to save my family."

Andromeda hissed a short breath and said, "I'm not here for that. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"And, as I said before, I am obviously _quite_ fine," the blonde answered in a clipped tone. And the hurt expression that flashed ever so briefly through Andromeda's eyes, her own gaze softened slightly, and she asked quietly, "Did you really think anything would change?"

"_You_ came to _me_ for help," Andromeda protested.

Narcissa said nothing, just stared at her, and Andromeda could see all the horrors of Azkaban reflected in those pale eyes. She wanted to say something else, but the words stuck in her throat, and Narcissa eventually turned and looked away again.

Andromeda looked towards the hallway. Perhaps she really should go. Perhaps there was no reason to stay.

"You told me once that your Ted Tonks was worth more than any of us," Narcissa said finally, still not looking at her sister. "Then you walked away and never once looked back." She slanted a look at Andromeda, and then said, "And I remember that quite well, because I have been reliving it since the beginning of my incarceration."

Andromeda blinked, unsure what surprised her more – that Andromeda leaving was one of Narcissa's worst memories, one that would be dragged to the forefront of her mind by a Dementor's presence, or that the aristocrat was actually willing to admit it.

"You cannot rewind time. You made your choice, and I made mine," Narcissa murmured. "I appreciate what you did to help us, and to help Severus. I suppose I am now in your debt. But that does not undo the past. Surely you have learned that by now."

Andromeda shook her head emphatically. "I don't believe that."

Narcissa snorted. "Then perhaps you truly belonged in Gryffidnor like that ridiculous fool of a cousin of ours."

Andromeda rolled her eyes at the mention of Sirius, but did not waste time arguing the point. In her sister she could see, beneath the layer of exhaustion, the steely determination and stubbornness that was so common among the Blacks. Narcissa had made up her mind to move on with her life and pretend that none of this had happened.

As though pretending would somehow wash away the memories.

"You're not in my debt, Cissy," Andromeda said at last. "I did this because… I am always… I have always been watching out for you. You are still my little sister, no matter what else has changed."

And she walked from the room.

Narcissa did not stop her.

It wasn't until Andromeda was outside, crossing the extensive Manor grounds, that something occurred to her. She had never been to Malfoy Manor before, and she certainly had never been there when Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were not home. But she had been able to enter this time, to cross the lawn and wander through the garden, to enter the house itself and recline in the parlor.

All without Narcissa's permission.

It was inconceivable that the Malfoys did not have wards around their home. They must have had protections, spells that kept out unwanted visitors. And, more than that, they must have had house-elves and other forms of servants who would have been instructed not to allow anyone into the home without the expressed permission of a member of the family.

Particularly in these uncertain times, when so many people wished them ill.

But she had entered. And she had waited, undisturbed.

Because the spells were based on blood. Because the house-elves had not been instructed to keep her out. Because the servants had not been ordered to make her leave.

Because, despite the past, the blood connection was still there. Tenuous, of course, and shaky. Perhaps Narcissa would never again smile at her, would never truly welcome her back into her life. Perhaps she would never again go out of her way to seek out her older sister.

But blood was still blood, and Black blood was still Black blood.

On a whim, Andromeda looked back over her shoulder and caught sight of the outline of Narcissa's face in the window, watching her.

Then she passed through the gate and turned on the spot, disappearing with a faint smile on her lips.

* * *

"You know," Mrs. Weasley said softly as she bustled about the kitchen, "this reminds me a bit of everything that happened with Crouch Sr."

Percy looked up in surprise. He had entered the kitchen a few minutes earlier and shown her the letter requesting his presence back at work, and she had instantly wrapped him in a tight embrace and then insisted that he take a seat at the table while she made something for him to eat. As though the food would have the ability to make this all better.

The silence had been long and uneasy, not because there was much in the way of lingering tension between the two, but because Percy's grief hung heavily in the air and they both knew there was nothing either could do to ease it. Not now, not yet.

Percy was fairly certain his mother had only decided to start talking now because she felt the need to break the silence, to fill the emptiness of the room with words that could keep them both busy and maybe, for a moment, take his mind off of Penny.

"We thought we were safe," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, shaking her head. "Harry had just defeated You Know Who, and we… we thought it was over." She wiped a few stray tears out of her eyes and sighed. "And then… then, quite suddenly, it _wasn't_ over. Frank and Alice were _so_ well-liked, and losing them was such a blow. Especially because Neville was so young, and the family had so much hope and promise for the future…"

Percy nodded. He had only a few vague memories of the first war, mostly of the fear and gloom that hung over everything. He didn't remember anything specific, and how no recollections at all of the Longbottoms' fate. He'd heard about it later, of course, just as he had heard about Mr. Crouch Sr.'s ultimate fall from grace.

Was Abbott setting himself up for the same fate? He was able to seize power during and directly after the Second War, and his hard and unrelenting tactics were approved by many. And then, just when everyone believed it was finally, truly over… Diggory and McGonagall were both killed, and the pressure to apprehend the one responsible – Snape, as was believed at the time – had been tremendous. Would public opinion turn away from Abbott now, as the full details of the story surfaced? Would he be pushed back into obscurity, shuffled into some less important position like his luckless predecessor?

"There are differences, of course," Mrs. Weasley continued, setting a bowl of hot soup and a slice of buttered bread in front of her son. "I don't believe I've ever met his daughter, but she was Ron's year at Hogwarts, you know, and there is no comparison between her and Barty Crouch Jr. But still… the other similarities _are_ there."

"So maybe it will all fade away eventually," Percy mumbled, taking a bite of bread. He wasn't hungry, but the food was in front of him, and he felt a strange compulsion to eat. Maybe it would help him think of something else, of someone else other than Penny.

"Maybe."

Percy glanced up at the odd quality in his mother's voice, and found that she was looking at him with a sweetly sympathetic and thoughtful expression.

Then she said with a heavy sigh, "You know, when your uncles were killed… I didn't think I would get over it. I was so close to them, and…" She trailed off and wiped her hands on her apron and looked away from Percy, moving back to the stove.

They rarely spoke of either Fabian or Gideon. She never brought up her brothers, and it had never occurred to Percy, or to any of her other children, to ask about them. They had died heroes' deaths fighting the Death Eaters, and that was all that was ever said.

"Mum?" She looked back at him, and he asked hesitantly, "How did you get over it?"

"Slowly," she answered with a wry smile. Then her expression sobered and she added, "I still miss them. And…" She paused, her eyes darkening and her jaw hardening as though she had to steel herself to continue, "And Fred. I miss… all of them…"

She broke off and gave a little, weary sigh, and Percy looked down at his soup, a lump rising in his throat. The constriction in his chest grew stronger, tighter, as though his heart by actually burst.

"But time goes on," she said finally. "And… Merlin, I wish it wouldn't, but it _does_, and you have to go with it."


	39. Somebody Save Me

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's Note: We're getting very close to the end of the story. In fact, there will only be two more chapters after this. So I hope you've all enjoyed it so far and that you find the ending... satisfactory. Which I guess is my way of telling you not to expect everything to come together perfectly.

Summary: And he let the Stone fall from his hand. This time, he was going to save himself.

* * *

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Somebody Save Me

_November 3, 1981…_

His first thought was to hunt down Sirius Black, to find the traitor and hex him until he begged for mercy. It had been a long time since he had felt anything akin to this, to the furious rage rushing through his veins. The venom was acrid and acidic, it burned everything it touched and left him feeling like a hollow husk, a mere shadow of what he had been, of everything he hoped to be.

He knew he wasn't the only one looking for Black. The Dark Lord's defeat gave people a reason to celebrate, but the deaths of James and Lily Potter were painfully hard for others to bear. The Aurors would be looking for the traitor, now that they knew what he had done. And perhaps that damnable werewolf and the mousy Pettigrew would look for their supposed friend as well.

There would be a funeral. Dumbledore himself would probably save a few words, maybe even give the eulogy. But Black wouldn't be there, and Potter would be the one they were burying, so the four Marauders were no more.

He stared blankly at the amber liquid inside his glass. He was rarely one to drink, having spent far too much of his childhood witnessing his father's violently drunken tempers. But alcohol, he knew, was supposed to make someone forget. It was supposed to dull the pain, to ease away the ache that had settled in his chest.

His first thought had been to hunt down Sirius Black, but he hadn't done it.

He fantasized about it for a moment, though, wondering if there were enough spells to fully punish the wizard. What would it take for Black to feel this pain? What would it take for him to know what he had done, to fully understand just what he had taken from the rest of the world?

He wanted vengeance.

He wanted Lily.

The old tavern was almost empty. The night before it had been packed, filled with wild, boisterous, completely inebriated witches and wizards celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord, lifting their glasses, mugs, and tumblers with toasts to the Boy Who Lived. He hadn't joined in the festivities then, because really, what was there to celebrate?

Lily was dead.

He had agreed to protect her son. He had promised Dumbledore he would expend his energy, waste the rest of his life, protecting her son. The child with her eyes.

He liked the quiet of the bar. It was gloomy without all the revelers, but it matched his mood so he did not mind. He had never been one to fit in with the loud-talking, rambunctious types, and in the solitude of his corner in the dingy tavern, he stared morosely at his drink and welcomed the silence.

His first thought had been to hunt down Sirius Black, but he hadn't done it, and now he couldn't quite remember why. At the time, there had seemed to be a good reason. He'd learned long before many others that the Dark Lord was gone, thanks to the sudden fading of the Dark Mark etched into his skin. He had hoped that Lily was not gone as well, but then the news had come, and…

And the urge to hunt down Black had been equal only to the pain in his chest, the feeling that all the joy had gone out of his life. He hadn't spoken to Lily in years, and yet somehow, knowing that she was alive… and happy… had made everything seem just a little bit more bearable.

She was gone now. Thanks to Black. And the Dark Lord.

And himself.

* * *

_August 31, 1991…_

With the students soon to be arriving and the start of another school year upon them, Snape was more than a little surprised to find the Headmaster leaning against a wall with his eyes closed. The corridor was empty, and there did not appear to be anything remarkable about any of the surrounding area, and yet for some reason Dumbledore looked as though he had been drained of all energy, of all strength.

"Ah… Severus." The old wizard opened his eyes and gave the younger potions Master a faint smile that seemed somewhat strained around the edges. "How have your preparations for classes gone?"

"Fine," Snape answered, dark eyes fixing on the Headmaster, searching his face for some kind of clue.

Dumbledore nodded, then looked wearily towards the door on his right. It was a plain-looking door, and Snape could not remember what was behind it. A closet, or an unused storage room, perhaps?

Snape reached a hand towards the doorknob.

"You don't want to go in there," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding a little bit stronger than it had moments before. He pushed himself off of the wall and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, long gray hair falling through spindly fingers.

Whatever else could be said about Dumbledore, he had always seemed to radiate strength and confidence. It unnerved Snape to see him looking so forlorn.

Recklessly, Snape pushed the door open despite the Headmaster's warning and stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping about, looking for a sign, anything that could explain the old wizard's strange behavior.

It took only a moment for his gaze to fall on the mirror, on the faint glimmer of moonbeams that reflected off of its surface, casting light and shadows across the room. The air was filled with dust motes hanging suspended in the sudden stillness that covered everything. He looked at the mirror, and saw in the clear surface of the mirror a set of brilliant green eyes looking back at him.

He moved closer to the mirror, drinking in the sight before him. Lily's reflection turned away from him and looked at the man standing next to her, and it took Snape a moment to realize that it was himself. _He_ was standing by her side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she was gazing up at him with adoration.

His breath caught in his throat.

He blinked several times, his mind feeling sluggish and numb. He knew this wasn't real, it couldn't be real. Lily was dead, and yet there she was in front of him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, from the smile on her lips, from the look of contentment in her eyes. His own face was relaxed as well, far more relaxed than he could ever remember feeling, and yet…

And yet none of it made.

"Lily?"

The word was a whisper, soft and gentle, almost a plea.

Something moved in his line of vision, and quite abruptly the mirror was covered with a dark cloth, black linen falling over the smooth surface in waves and ripples of fabric. The simple of act of covering the mirror broke the spell that had fallen over him, snapping him back into the jarring, hollow reality. Everything settled over him like a rush of cold water – Lily was _dead_ – and he fought to keep back the shattering of pain in his chest.

He turned and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway, his wand outstretched, his eyes fixed on the black cloth that he had conjured from thin air to cover the mirror. The lines of his wizened face seemed deeper, more prominent, and there was no sparkle in his blue eyes.

He looked… old.

Snape stumbled backwards, taking a faltering step as he found himself dangerously close to the enchanted mirror. He froze, knowing he was close enough to spin around and snatch the cloth from the mirror… to see Lily again…

"Severus…"

The wild, nearly uncontrollable desire to be in her presence was overpowering, and almost drowned out the faint whisper of the Headmaster's voice.

Almost.

He forced himself to step away from the mirror.

* * *

_June 20th, 1995…_

He honestly had not ever imagined he could feel horror quite like this.

No one was quite sure what was happening, given that the hedges of the maze had grown far too high to see the four champions. At the time he had heard of the plans for the Third Task, he had thought derisively that it seemed rather pointless to have the entire school sit on the bleachers around the Quidditch field and stare at a bunch of shrubs while they weighted for the winning champion to appear. Now, he wondered if perhaps it was a bad idea for a completely different reason – would panic erupt?

Most of the crowd hadn't figured out yet that something was wrong. Through the sea of students, he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore moving towards the maze, his expression concerned. Minerva was there as well, looking over her shoulder as though hoping to find someone or something specific.

Snape felt a sharp clenching in his stomach. Something was wrong, he knew that much for certain. He just didn't know what it was.

But the fact that his own apprehension was so clearly reflected on the faces of the Headmaster and the transfiguration Professor only served to heighten his unease.

He pushed towards them, slanting a quick look towards the right, towards the maze. They'd removed Krum and Ms. Delacour from the maze, leaving only the two Hogwarts champions inside…

Where were they?

And then, and then…

He felt it.

The sharp, searing pain he had not felt in years. The explosion on his skin that signaled the darkening of the now-faint etching, the calls, the summons…

It had been growing darker every day for the past year, filling him with a troubled dread. There was only one possible conclusion, and while he and Dumbledore had spoken quietly about the issue, about the possibility, for nearly twelve months, it did little to stop the wave of terror that momentarily accompanied the burning sensation.

One hand instinctively clamped over the opposite arm, and across the mass of people, Dumbledore turned and caught his eye, blue eyes already filled with suspicion of what had happened.

"He's back," Snape whispered, his words ignored by everyone around him. Dumbledore was at his side a moment later, Minerva behind him, and Snape lifted dark eyes and said again, "He's _back_."

All three looked towards the maze.

What had happened? Where were the two Hogwarts students? Had something happened to them?

Had something happened to Potter?

The Dark Lord was back, his own life could be in danger. The rest of the world was in _certain_ danger, and Potter and Diggory… Only God – and the Dark Lord – knew what had happened and what would happen to them.

And yet his first thought, his _only_ thought, was for Lily.

_I'm sorry, Lily. I swore I would protect your son, and… I didn't. I'm sorry._

He honestly had not ever imagined he could feel horror quite like this.

* * *

_Spring, the distant past…_

A faint light shone in through the grimy window, illuminating the rather dingy and unorganized study. The desk was overflowing with parchment, and several books were carelessly discarded on the floor. Everything – from the threadbare rug on the dirty floor to the stained cloak draped over the stiff-backed chair – was covered in a thick layer of dust as though no one had bothered to clean in ages.

In fact, no one _had_ bothered to clean the room in ages.

The rest of the house held a similar appearance, though perhaps with a more stale and still air, for it was only in this room that there was any movement.

The man, the sole occupant of the room, had a sunken expression in his nearly lifeless eyes, and his shaggy, unkempt hair hung over his thin face, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes as the paleness of his clammy skin. He slumped over onto the chair, leaning forward as he gazed at the bottle clutched tightly in his bony hands, at the liquid that sloshed inside the clear glass vial.

He thought of nothing but that liquid.

And a girl. A girl he loved.

Had he forgotten about the rest of the world? Had he forgotten that the sun was shining outside the window, that spring had finally warmed the cold earth? Had he forgotten that the world still spun, time still moved on, that the seasons came and went and there was a life to be lived?

Had he forgotten his own child? The heir that would continue his line, a line that would eventually produce the greatest Dark Lord of all time?

He uncorked the vial.

On the desk in front of him was a stone, dark and smooth and seemingly innocuous. A stone that held a power far greater than many others would ever believe. A stone that called upon the power of love – _his_ love – and turned it into something dark and twisted.

She was there, an imprint of the past, a memory. Faint and faded, never alive, but never able to move on. He had called her back, but she wasn't back completely. He could not touch her, could not feel her warm skin, her beating heart. Could not hear her draw a breath. He could see her before him, and yet…

She was not alive.

He lifted the vial to his lips.

Poison. Death. And a chance to be with her again.

And so Cadmus Peverell drank.

* * *

_Present day…_

He knew the story, of course. His father's hatred of all things magical had not kept his mother from telling him the occasional bedtime story. His father hadn't ever paid enough attention to those whispered stories to realize just what they were – he had never paid enough attention to his son or his wife in _anything_ – and Snape had cherished those recollections as the few truly good moments he had had with his mother.

He had vague memories of the story of the three brothers who had met Death beside a river.

He knew what happened to each brother.

And he knew the story was supposed to serve as a warning. A warning not to desire power too much, for fear of being killed by those who want it more. A warning not to cling too hard to the past or the dead, for fear of being forced to join them. A warning not to be too greedy, to want too much.

But it did not stop him from conjuring Lily's phantom once more.

"Severus…" There was a pleading in her voice as she stepped closer towards him, the warmth of her glow almost reaching through the cold of his skin. "Please. You have to let me go."

"I _can't_," he said, shaking his head. All his life had been built around her. Everything he had ever done, it had all been for her. Joining the Death Eaters, seeking power, had been his misguided attempt to prove that he was good enough for her. Turning away from the Death Eaters had been a desperate attempt to save her life. Both choices had been for her… and both choices had failed.

All he had ever done was drive her further and further away.

Until he had driven her to James Potter.

"You have to," Lily argued. "I don't belong here." She let her gaze wander around the dismal cell, then added softly, "And neither do you. This isn't right."

He snorted. "Right and wrong hardly matter anymore."

_Not everything is gray. There's a lot of it, but… some things are clearly right. And some are clearly wrong. And that doesn't change, no matter what._

Snape pushed away from her and walked towards the uncomfortable cot that had served as his bed for however long he had been in this prison. He sat on the edge, dark hair falling over sallow features, black eyes staring at the stone floor.

That infuriating boy had managed to utter a statement, a simple question, that had shaken him, left him frustrated and unsure. How many times had he allowed his own beliefs to be so questioned by a child?

By a _Potter_?

"You don't believe that," she argued, and there was an edge to her voice, a firmness to the words as though she was practically daring him to contradict her.

He didn't look at her as he answered, "Everything I ever did was for you. But I still failed. I still…"

"Harry is alive. You didn't fail." There was a pause, then the phantom continued, "But you still have to let me go. I still don't belong here, in this world."

His gaze snapped up and he said in a bitter tone, "Let me guess, you belong with your precious James Potter in the afterlife?"

She reeled back, the tears pooling momentarily in her eyes, and he wanted to swallow his words, to tell her that he did not mean it, that he was sorry. That he never wanted to see her look at him with such hurt. But she blinked and averted her gaze, and he looked back at the floor.

_I mean, I know you hated my father, but did you really hate him enough to want him dead?_

He gripped the fingers of one hand tightly along the edge of the cot. The image of James Potter's face floated before him for a moment, and then he shoved those thoughts away.

The anger still bubbled in his stomach and seeped upwards into his chest.

Lily wasn't crying, he noted as he slanted a look at her, but her expression was closed and guarded. She still wasn't looking at him, and she had to swallow once or twice before she spoke, as though clearing a lump that had formed in her throat.

"Who I belong with is not the issue," she said, her words colder than he would have wished. "The issue is the _where_. I'm dead, Severus. And you _aren't_."

"You don't have to lie to me, Lily," he answered coolly. "If you want to go back and spend time with your husband, just say it." He knew there was some truth to his words, he knew that he was keeping Lily from resting in peace. He had pulled her back, forced her to come into this world, torn her away from James Potter. He knew it was wrong, but…

He needed her. Didn't she know that?

He wasn't sure if he had said the words aloud, or if she was simply able to read his mind. But she shook her head and said firmly, "You don't need me. You _shouldn't_ need me. What can I tell you that you do not already know? What can I give you that you do not already have? I'm _dead_."

_And she was the only reason you came back? What would have happened if…_

He rose to his feet, his words coming out in a rush as Potter's earlier question echoed in his mind, "Don't you understand what you've already done for me? Don't you see that you've made me a better person? Don't you realize that? How can you say I don't need you?"

She moved closer to him, her lips turning into a bittersweet smile. "I've got nothing to give," she murmured, stretching her arms to either side, displaying the emptiness as though to prove her point.

"You can… help me…"

She shook her head. "I can't help you if you won't help yourself," she answered. "And look around you. Look where you are. You clearly aren't trying to help yourself."

"You don't know that," Snape spat. "You don't know me."

She looked at him sadly. "No. I suppose I don't." She turned and walked away from him. "But I know you protected my son."

_You took a point off because of something Neville did, something that was in no way my fault. You accused me of letting him screw up so that I would make myself look good. Why? Why did you hate me so much?_

He could not get Potter's words out of his mind. For all the things the boy had ever done, all the times he had been reckless, careless, disrespectful, arrogant, or wrong… that had not been one of them.

That time, Snape had been the one at fault.

But how was he supposed to look at the son of his tormentor and not feel anger? How was he supposed to see Lily's eyes in Potter's face and not feel hatred? How was he supposed to let go of the past?

The past was all he had.

He didn't want to fight with Lily. He just wanted to sit next to her, to enjoy her presence, to feel at peace.

And she would give him none of those things.

He sank to the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Everything has been for you," he said again, a low whisper. "You were the only one worth anything…"

"I shouldn't have been," she replied. There was another silence, then she sighed heavily and asked, "When are you going to live? When are you going to recognize that _life_ is worth fighting for?"

He looked down at the Stone in his hand.

"Let me go, Sev."

"I can't."

The same argument. The same demand, the same answer.

The same question.

"Why not?"

His reply, a whisper so low she could not hear, "I don't know… how to… do this…"

He had spent his entire life thinking about her. He had made all his decisions based on what he thought she would want. He had let his love for her guide him between right and wrong.

_If Voldemort hadn't targeted me, would you still be on his side? If my mother had never been in any danger, would you have ever… would you still be killing, torturing, maiming…? Did you ever care about what was right and what was wrong?_

"You know right and wrong. You don't need me for that," she said, her voice shaking. He looked at her, and saw that she was crying. She licked her lips, then said, "Just… promise me you will try to be happy. Please."

She was begging.

He climbed slowly back to his feet.

He _did_ know right from wrong.

He had walked away from the Mirror of Erised. He had walked away from the temptation that lay before him then, the desire to spend all his time staring at her, living in his own dreams of what might have been. He had had the strength then…

And he had it now.

He was not Cadmus Peverell.

He looked at her, one last time taking in the red of her hair, the sparkling green of her eyes…

"Goodbye, Lily," he said.

"Goodbye, Sev," she answered.

And he let the Stone fall from his hand.

This time, he was going to save himself.


	40. Phoenix Rising

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Alright, folks, this is the last chapter. There will be a short epilogue after this, and hopefully I will have it posted in the next few days. It will be the final Harry/Snape confrontation, and should hopefully offer enough closure for the story. I do want to warn you all however, that this is not a happy ending. It isn't really a sad one, either… it just doesn't fix all the problems in the wizarding world, or in our characters lives. But, of course, fixing all the problems was never my intention. I just wanted to bring the characters to a point where the problems could be fixed in the future – with a whole bunch of hard work, good intentions, and perseverance – and I hope I have managed to do that for you all.

Summary: "I built my entire life around you," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you're gone. And now it is time to start building my life around me."

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Phoenix Rising

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost._

They'd gathered in the Burrow, yet again. It had always felt like a second home to Harry, but lately he suspected he had been spending far more time in the cramped quarters of his best friend's house than in his own flat.

Not that he was complaining.

He wasn't sure what they had gathered for. It seemed like just another meal, perhaps, and he gratefully accepted the bowl of steaming soup from Mrs. Weasley with a smile. Ever since the end of the war, since Fred's death, she'd enjoyed having her children – and Harry and Hermione – around as much as possible. And he also suspected she had orchestrated this particular dinner both in part to offer a distraction for the still grieving Percy and to give her an opportunity to keep an eye on Ron and assess his recovery.

Ron, stuffing a slice of bread into his mouth, was oblivious to his mother's scrutiny.

Hermione, however, was not oblivious to it, and she caught Harry's eyes and barely managed to suppress a bemused grin.

Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Weasley, who was having the usual argument with Bill.

"Just a little bit shorter, Bill. Not even that much."

"_No_, Mum."

"But your hair is getting _quite_ long again."

But the older witch was obviously itching to pull out her wand and trim the ends of the flaming red hair and Bill, sensing imminent danger, moved closer to Fleur and slid an arm around her shoulders.

"I theenk it is lovely," Fleur declared, twirling his hair around her fingers.

Ginny made a face and pretended to gag.

The argument was interrupted by the sudden rush of green flames in the fireplace, and then Mr. Weasley stepped into the kitchen, wiping the soot off of his robes and wearing an unnaturally grave expression.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley moved quickly to his side, a look of concern on her face. "You're late. Is everything alright at work?"

"Madam Borealis and a few other high ranking members of the Wizengamot are meeting with Snape tomorrow afternoon," he said with a grimace, shrugging off his travelling cloak. Mrs. Weasley took it from his hands and moved to hang on a hook in the hallway outside the kitchen, and Mr. Weasley joined the others at the table.

"Why?" Harry asked curiously, leaning forward. Around him, the conversation fell silent.

"I'm not sure," Mr. Weasley answered, frowning. "She didn't explain her motives to me… or apparently to anyone else. But rumor has it she is trying to avoid a trial."

"Is that a wise move? Politically, I mean?" Bill asked thoughtfully. "The public may feel as though they were purposefully kept out of the process."

"They _are_ being purposefully kept out of the process," Mr. Weasley answered. "Which is a brilliant move… if she can manage it. But I don't know. If she doesn't get this exactly right, the repercussions…" He trailed off as Mrs. Weasley bustled back into the kitchen and set a bowl of soup in front of him.

"I don't understand," Hermione said, a confused look in her eyes. "What is the point of this? What is her plan?"

"If the accusations against Snape go to a full trial, it could have a disastrous effect on wizarding Britain," Mr. Weasley said wearily. "With everything we've just been through… the last thing we want is another controversial issue tearing us apart. It will undo any chance we have at rebuilding. And without Diggory or Minerva… we just can't afford that."

"The slimy git is hardly controversial," George protested, looking from his father to the others at the table.

"No," Ginny agreed, "but Harry's defense of him is."

"I wasn't even defending him in that article," Harry grumbled, shaking his head. Although he now no longer believed that Snape deserved to lose his soul to the Dementors, he still didn't know exactly how he felt about the potions Master. And defending Snape had never been his intention, not when he was being interviewed by Rita Skeeter. She had done all that on her own.

Percy mixed his spoon around in circles in his soup and then said quietly, "Whatever your intentions were, you _did_ end up defending him. And I think Madam Borealis is right in her concerns about bringing Snape to trial."

"But they can't just… not give him a trial," Ron argued, shaking his head vehemently as he looked from his older brother back to his father. "They can't just make a decision without… without justice."

"Well, actually, they can," Hermione countered softly, resting her hand on top of Ron's with a faint, bittersweet smile. She slanted a quick look at Harry, and said, "They've done that before. Sirius never got a trial. Crouch…" She stopped abruptly at the darkness that flickered in Harry's eyes, and looked away.

The Boy Who Lived sighed and waited until Hermione was looking at him again. Then he gave her a quick smile, his best attempt at convincing her that his anger at the mention of Sirius was not in any way directed at her. But it still made his gut twist and his temper rise when he thought of his godfather's wrongful imprisonment for all those years.

"How will the public take it?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking at her husband.

"Hard to know. If she screws it up… well, then it will be the end of Borealis' career. They might not like it, might not like being kept out of the process. It all depends on how she handles it, on what the end result is, and I can't even _begin_ to comprehend what she's going to aim for on that."

"And if she handles it well?" Harry asked curiously.

Mr. Weasley hesitated, then said, "Then she avoids controversy and gets rid of a significant problem all in one move. She's politically savvy enough to pull it off, but I'm still not thrilled about it."

The conversation trailed off at that point, and eventually turned to other subjects. George regaled them all with amusing stories of his newest inventions, and Bill and Charlie both had their own tales from work to recount. The evening passed pleasantly enough, but though Harry did his best to smile and nod at all the appropriate places in the conversation, he still could not quite rid himself of his troubling thoughts about Snape.

Mrs. Weasley sent him a shrewd look every now and then, and both Bill and Ron glanced at him every now and then, searching the lines of his face for something. He smiled at all of them, trying to appear both happy and oblivious to their not-so-subtle concerns.

He might have fooled all of them, but as usual, he was not able to fool Hermione.

So he was not surprised when, after dinner, she rose to her feet, gave him a pointed look, and said, "Harry, why don't we go for a walk?"

Harry gave Ron a quick, pleading look, but the redhead just mouthed _Sorry, mate_, and shrugged, apparently deciding it was safer to side with Hermione. Ginny had slid away from the table at that point and was talking with Bill about something, and so Harry was left to follow Hermione out into the cool night.

They walked around the garden, Harry staring at the twisted, gnarled trees, the overgrown grass, the gnomes sneaking around the large hedge that surrounded the places… looking anywhere and everywhere that _wasn't_ Hermione's eyes.

Finally, Hermione placed a hand on his arm and stopped him, forced him to look at her. He turned, and she asked, "What do you want to happen?"

Harry grimaced and pulled his arm out of her grasp. "I want for this war to have not happened. I want Voldemort to have never existed. I want… I want to not have to be faced with this sort of question."

Hermione rolled her eyes and said sharply, "What do you want to have happen than might actually be able to happen? Fantasies and dreams aside, Harry, what do you want?"

"Hannigan, Runcorn, and Yaxley are in prison, and aren't getting out any time soon," Harry muttered. "The Malfoys are out… and I guess that's good. I don't really know." He chewed his lip, silence falling between them for a moment, then he said, "I want Snape to be evil."

"Is he?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not completely. He's not… he's not good, either. But he's not…" Frustration and helplessness filled him, and he clenched his hands into fists. Searching for the right words, he said finally, in a fumbling, stumbling voice, "I want this to be easier. More straightforward."

"Life is not straightforward."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I figured that one out."

They started walking again, moving side-by-side through the grass. Harry looked back at the Burrow, at each lighted window sparkling cheerfully in the darkness of the night. He inhaled slowly, then swallowed and looked over at Hermione.

He was not surprised to find her scrutinizing him.

"I get so… angry," he said finally. "When I think of this, of him… Snape, I mean… I get so… furious. It's like something is in my blood, in my heart, in my mind… I want to hurt him. I want to make him pay. Make him suffer. I know he's not all evil, but I still… I _hate_ him."

"I know," Hermione replied softly, sympathetically.

"I don't like this. I don't like feeling like this. We've been through so much, Hermione, and I just… I just want to let go."

"Can you?" she pressed.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, thinking. Finally, he said, "I hope so. If Snape was just… if I never had to think about him again. If he was gone. Then I could… I just wish he was gone."

"You mean dead?" Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. He doesn't deserve that. I mean that I… I wish he was out of my thoughts."

Hermione gave him a thoughtful look, and nodded.

* * *

After what felt like nearly an eternity in the solitude of Azkaban, Snape found himself a little surprised to be called to yet another meeting. First the interrogation with the Aurors, then Potter and his annoying habit of meddling, and now this. When had he become so popular?

He kept his expression neutral as he slid into the seat at the end of the table and glanced at the three people in the room. One was a witch, and she was clearly in charge. She sat opposite him, her hands resting on the table, her eyes scrutinizing him. She was flanked on either side by two wizards, both of whom were standing with their arms folded over their chest.

All three of them wore the distinctive robes of the Wizengamot.

"Severus Snape," the witch said, her voice ringing with authority, "do you know who I am?"

He continued to stare at her, willing her name to come to the forefront of his mind. He was positive he'd seen her before, but his time in Azkaban had somehow made his mind far foggier than is used to be, and he couldn't concentrate on anything.

Finally, it came. "Madam Borealis. A… _pleasant_… surprise, I'm sure."

She smiled, her lips turning upwards at the ends. Her black hair was pulled back from her face, accenting her eyes which were fixed on him with a blatant curiosity that he could not avoid.

"I have a proposal for you," she said.

Snape found himself intrigued at that, despite his best effort to remain detached. Feigning disinterest, he said, "Do you? Let me guess… it involves me losing my soul."

"Not quite." She regarded him for a moment, then said, "You are a thorn in my side, Mr. Snape, and it would be far better for me if you were no longer an issue for us. You're too decisive, and unfortunately Harry Potter has only made it worse."

Snape snorted. "Would you like me to apologize?" he asked.

She ignored him. "Only a few weeks ago, you would not have been a problem. In fact, Hannigan managed to seize power because he brought you in. You weren't controversial then. But things have changed. Hannigan's fall from grace proved that, and Ms. Skeeter's article was hardly helpful. And, of course, there are so many divided opinions over the Malfoys…"

"What does this have to do with me?" Snape demanded, feeling annoyed by the conversation. She was obviously discussing his fate, and yet she apparently didn't feel any need to elaborate for him. In fact, it seemed rather as though she was speaking only to hear the sound of her own voice.

He truly detested politicians.

"You won't get a fair trial," Madam Borealis answered calmly. "We're far too prejudiced."

"I know," Snape sneered. There was a slight pause as he mulled over everything that the witch had said, then he let his gaze wander to the two wizards flanking her. Their faces were expressionless, devoid of any emotion, and they gazed back at him with blank stares.

Not everything was adding up, however. Even if Potter had spoken out in his favor, even if the revelation of Hannigan's true motives had caused doubt and unease to run rampant in the rest of wizarding Britain, he still found it difficult to believe that he would be controversial. He had been truly hated before, and that was not something that would simply change overnight.

He looked back at Madam Borealis and said sharply, "Then condemn me to Azkaban for life or have a Dementor suck out my soul. It's what will happen anyway, and I find it difficult to believe that it is _not_ what most people would want."

"Do you really believe that?" came the incredulous answer. Madam Borealis shook her head. "For all your intelligence, Snape, you seem to be missing the obvious. How many times did Potter defy Voldemort? First as a baby, then during his first, second, fourth, and fifth years at Hogwarts? And didn't he stick to his claim that Voldemort had returned even when the entire Ministry was trying to discredit it? Didn't he willingly sacrifice his own life to save the rest of the world? Didn't he finally defeat Voldemort in the end?"

"Do you have a point?" Snape drawled in a bored voice.

"They practically worship him," Madam Borealis said. "Perhaps that will fade over time, but it hasn't yet, and his word carries more weight than you seem to realize." She paused, considering him closely, then added, "It is enough to make people think twice before condemning you."

Snape grimaced at that. He had no desire to spend the rest of his life in this miserable place, nor did he particularly wish to lose his soul. But he truly disliked the idea of having Potter to thank for his freedom.

If he ever went free.

"What do you want from me?" he asked at last.

Madam Borealis rose to her feet and began pacing. The other two wizards drew back to opposite sides of the room, but they kept their focus on Snape. Watching him, waiting for any sign that he might attack.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He had no wand, and he was half-mad from this place. How could they actually think that he was more a threat to them than they were to him?

"I would like to address this issue some other way," the authoritative witch replied. "You have committed crimes, and should be held accountable for those. But you have also done much more good… A trial is out of the question, but a plea bargain is not."

Snape lifted a eyebrow. "A plea bargain?" he echoed coolly.

"Yes." She turned and looked at him, pausing in her pacing, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she had not yet worked out the details of what she was proposing. Still, she continued firmly, as though she had some idea of the right path, "A form of house arrest, perhaps?"

Snape was only barely able to conceal his disgust at that option. The idea of being trapped anywhere grated on his nerves. He'd spent far too much time feeling trapped at Hogwarts, locked into the role of a spy, forever to dwell on his past mistakes.

"I am sure you could be set up with a nice potions lab in some out of the way village. A Muggle one might be best. You could entertain whomever you wanted, though an Auror might periodically check in to make sure…"

"As much fun as you are making this sound," Snape spat, "I think I'll have to pass. I'll try my luck with a trial."

"Is that really what you want?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do you care what I want? You could simply arrange for this to happen. You are the head of the Wizengamot, you _do_ have that authority."

"The only reason a compromise would benefit me would be if you quietly disappear," she answered. "Otherwise the public backlash will be… inconvenient."

"And it would be so annoying to allow morals and ethics and a human life to _inconvenience_ you," Snape sneered.

She ignored him, and continued, "And how can I trust that you will disappear from public attention if you are unhappy with the outcome of the bargain?"

"This is just another way for you to decide my life for me," Snape hissed. "No matter how many ways you dress it up, you're not giving me a choice."

"A choice? Did you give James and Lily Potter a choice when you delivered the prophecy to your Lord? How many others have you deprived of their choices? How many lives did you end as a Death Eater, Snape?"

She was angry, he could tell that from the splotches of color that appeared on her otherwise pale face. Her eyes had narrowed into thin slits, and the words were short and tense, her voice filled with frustration and venom.

He smirked.

"You see? Even with Potter's declaration of my _goodness_, you still harbor hatred for me."

She glared at him, then raised her voice, "Auror!" The door to the room opened immediately, and an Auror entered, a wand held out in front of him. Madam Borealis was still staring at Snape as she said coldly, "Take him back to his cell."

Snape rose to his feet, but something was tugging at his conscious, some kind of self-reproach was twisting in his stomach. Hadn't he just promised himself that he wouldn't do this? That no matter how furious he was, he would not let his anger, his grief, his guilt, and his pride lead him down the wrong path?

Hadn't he just decided that he would save himself?

He didn't want this. He didn't want a trial, he didn't want Azkaban. But he didn't want house arrest either.

The Auror grabbed him by the arm and lead him towards the door, almost pulling him from the room. He knew this path would lead nowhere good, and his only chance for escaping it was still standing in the room, watching him. He had to take the chance.

He licked his lips. "Wait."

The Auror paused and looked towards Madam Borealis for permission. She nodded slowly, her gaze on Snape, and the Auror dropped the potion Master's arm and withdrew from the room once more, closing the door behind him.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Exile."

She frowned questioningly.

"Not house arrest," Snape continued. "Exile. Banishment. Whatever you want to call it." He looked at her for a moment, then spoke slowly, picking his words carefully. "You want me to fade away? That's fine, I'll do it. But not under house arrest. You can force me to leave the country, you can set up wards and spells to keep me from returning. I'll be gone. Out of sight, out of mind."

Madam Borealis considered this cautiously. "An Auror will have to check up on you occasionally."

Snape snorted, but said, "Fine." He would not mind that so much, as long as he was left alone most of the time. He wanted the solitude, wanted a chance to start over, start a new life. He didn't know where he would go, didn't know what he would do with his time, but he knew he didn't want to be here.

He'd had enough of England. There was nothing left but bad memories.

"You'll have to answer questions. More than you did when you were being interrogated. I have to know… I can't hope to dissuade the public from asking for your death without knowing more than I do now."

Snape's gut twisted with the familiar bitter feeling of trepidation. He did not want to spill his secrets to her, not now. Even with everything he had been forced to reveal, even though most of his secrets were gone… he still had some thoughts that were his alone.

And what if she asked about his childhood? They knew about his love for Lily now, but he did not want them to know about his mother and father. He could not stand the pity or whatever other emotion they might all have if they knew the truth. And what if she wanted to know more about Hogwarts? He did not want to relive those days, did not want to repeat countless stories of the _amusing_ pranks that were played on him. Potter and Black had treated him like rubbish, but he had spent a long time convincing others that he was something to be feared. If he had to recount _those_ tales, would people start mocking him again?

And yet… he wanted out. Out of this mess. He was no longer content to remain in Azkaban, no longer content to be miserable, to let his life pass by. He wanted to save himself.

"Alright," he spat. "I'll tell you what you need to know. I'll answer your questions." He looked away from her, hoping he could at least put the spin he wanted on the story. He couldn't rewrite the past, but if he was the one telling the tale, he could at least make sure it was told the way he wanted.

"You'll really do this?" Madam Borealis asked quietly. "You'll go, and not come back?"

Snape nodded wordlessly. He had no reason to come back, not anymore. The war was over. It was time to move on.

"Then I suppose this can be arranged."

* * *

In the end, it was almost anticlimactic. The Malfoys were slapped with a large fine, enough to significantly diminish their wealth, though it still left them with more than most. Kingsley, too, was fined. He was also removed from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, much to Harry's dismay. But public opinion was slowly moving to favor Kingsley, thanks in part to Harry's interview with Rita Skeeter, and it would probably not be long until he returned to the Ministry.

Abbott's reaction was no different than Harry had expected – outrage and fury – and that concerned him. Abbott concerned him, but there was little they could do to stop the wizard. He had broken no laws, and he still had enough support to prevent him from being sacked without an uproar. Harry didn't like it, but Abbott stayed on at the Ministry, still an important and influential official in the governing body.

Aurora Borealis was named interim Minister of Magic while the Ministry attempted to reorganize itself. It would be a long, uphill battle, Harry knew, but for the first time since he could remember, he at least trusted that the person filling the position of Minister was a fundamentally fair and decent human being.

It was a start.

Ginny sat down next to him and grabbed the Daily Prophet out of his hands. "Come on, Harry," she chided gently, "you need to have some fun. You've spent too much time reading this."

"There is still a lot of grumbling about the decision regarding Snape," Harry protested, trying to snatch the newspaper away from his girlfriend. She held it out of his reach, and he debated using his wand to summon it.

"Madam Borealis will take care of it," Ginny answered. "She's done a good job of it so far. The grumbling has died down a lot."

"I know, but I can't help thinking about it. It's going to be a while before it's over. Snape… they'll remember him forever."

"No, they won't," Percy said from where he was standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. He wasn't looking at Harry as he continued, "People forget. It takes a while, but… eventually, he'll just be a name in a history book." He moved his gaze slowly to his sister, then shifted to look at Harry. "They'll find someone else to hate. Some other problem to occupy their minds. Trust me… it might not seem like it now, but eventually they will forget."

Ginny nodded as she folded the newspaper and set it on the table. "And anyway, Harry, you're not responsible for fixing all problems everywhere. Come on, lets go outside. It's a nice day, and you need a break."

"But…"

"She's right, you know," a new voice said, and Harry looked up to see Hermione enter the room, Ron trailing behind her.

"You know, mate, if even Hermione's telling you that you need to a take a break, you must desperately need it," Ron quipped. Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm, and he made a face at her.

"I just am having a hard time letting go of all this," Harry said, gesturing to the paper.

"But you need to," Hermione protested. "You're the one who said you wanted a chance to not have this all hanging over you. To not have to think about the war and Snape and… everything."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and nodded glumly. He knew Hermione was right, he _had_ told her all of that. But now that he had gotten his wish, he found that he couldn't let go as easily as he had hoped. His worries and frustrations were still there, as was his anger. Moving on wasn't all that easy.

Ginny rested a hand gently on his arm and said, "Sometimes, you can't deal with something until you take a moment to step back and see it in a different light. Let this go for now. You have plenty of time to deal with it later."

She was right, of course, and Hermione was nodding emphatically as well. Even Ron looked convinced by the argument, and Harry found himself giving in to their persuasion.

So he rose to his feet and followed his girlfriend and his two best friends from the room.

* * *

The small brick house sat at the top of a hill, overlooking a tidy, picturesque Muggle village. It was just far enough away from the outskirts of the town to be secluded, and yet still close enough that the inhabitants of the house could easily walk into the village… if they wanted. The yard was messy, grass growing in all the wrong directions and trees sprawling along the hill until they blended into the forest on the other side of the fence that enclosed the house.

It wasn't much, but it was enough for one person to call home.

"This is… too much," Snape said, shaking his head. "I can't take it."

Narcissa rolled her pretty eyes and answered, "Why not? What have I ever truly given you, Severus? Besides friendship that came with strings attached?" She was sitting on the stone steps in front of the house, her elegant robes and regal posture jarring against the plain backdrop of the wooden door. "Lucius and I had enough money to buy it, even after the fines."

Snape folded his arms over his chest and shrugged. "You gave me a home for the years I was hiding from the Ministry. You kept my secret. I cannot…"

"You protected my son," Narcissa answered.

Snape knew that, for her, that was all that would ever matter. He had been surprised the first time he realized just how much Narcissa cared for Draco. It was back when he thought of her as cold and ambitious, wanting only to further her station in life. But it was obvious just how much Draco meant to her, and just how far she would go to keep him safe.

He had the suspicion that she, too, had been surprised by the depth of her love for her son.

Snape felt a dull flush rising along his neck, and quickly looked away. He did not want her to see the gratitude he knew would show in his eyes. It was a weakness he was still not comfortable displaying, not even to Narcissa, who was one of his only friends left. But he was thankful, because he had neither the means nor the time to find a place for himself, and she had provided for him.

"It is secluded," he said finally. "I do like the privacy."

"I'd suggest a Secret Keeper, if you truly want to be safe from nosy neighbors," Narcissa answered, giving the Muggle village a disdainful look. "I doubt the people who live there are known for their discretion."

"A Secret Keeper is not allowed," Snape answered with a disgusted snort. "The Aurors have to be able to locate me if necessary." He hadn't been thrilled about that part of the deal, but he knew Madam Borealis would never agree to it otherwise. So he had reluctantly acquiesced.

"Andromeda will be disappointed," Narcissa drawled. Snape glanced at her quickly, but she wasn't looking at him. It appeared that she was not speaking to him either. Her words were low, muttered under her breath, and she continued, "My own sister. I can't believe I didn't realize it before."

Snape pressed his hands together for a moment, staring at his fingers, before saying, "There were reasons I did not tell you."

"Aren't there always?" Narcissa answered with a touch of ironic bitterness to her voice. But she did not seem particularly upset with him, and Snape was not about to apologize for not telling her. So they let the matter drop, and a comfortable silence fell between them.

The sun was sinking over a distant horizon, filling the sky with orange and red. The forest stood out in start contrast, casting long shadows over the grass.

Narcissa had not mentioned Lily. Snape wondered if she ever would. She had never known his true reasons for turning back to the side of Light, never known what had driven him away from the Dark Lord. She had asked a few times, and he had refused to tell her, and strangely, now that she did know the truth, she didn't seem all that interested in it.

Maybe it was for the best. Lily was gone, and clinging to the past would not bring her back. He had resolved in Azkaban to start a new life, one without her. Narcissa and her husband and son were now the true friends in his life. And this, standing in the cool night air speaking casually with Narcissa as the sun slowly sank… _this_ was his future.

"We'll come visit," Narcissa said, rising to her feet gracefully. "I know Draco would like to see you."

"I would… like the company… when you have a chance," Snape agreed, and was surprised to find that he meant it.

Narcissa nodded. "I must go now, before Lucius worries that I've been killed by rogue Aurors." She said it with a bit of laughter in her voice, but the serious look in her eyes was enough to tell Snape that Lucius had been truly worried about this sort of thing happening.

He supposed he couldn't really blame the blonde aristocrat for his fears. They had all just been sent to Azkaban.

"Goodbye, Narcissa."

"Goodbye, Severus," Narcissa said, and then she was gone.

Long after Narcissa had left, after the sun had disappeared completely and the night had grown cold, Severus stood in the yard, staring up at the sky. Remembering.

He reached into the pockets of his robe and withdrew a small, insignificant looking stone. No one had even batted an eye when he took it with him on his way from Azkaban. Not a single Auror had known what it was, and he doubted any of them would have believed him had he told them.

"I built my entire life around you," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you're gone. And now it is time to start building my life around me."

He dropped the stone to the ground at his feet and pointed his wand at it. Summoning all his strength, he sent a silent spell towards the last object that tied him to the past, his last link to Lily…

And with a blinding flash of light, it shattered into countless pieces.

"Goodbye, Lily," he said, then turned and walked into the small brick house, letting the door swing shut behind him.


	41. Epilogue: A Light From the Shadows

Title: All That Glitters

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: He sighed, and said slowly, "I would prefer to hear that… that Voldemort… does not have control over anything anymore, not even a single person's life."

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
The crownless again shall be king._

Epilogue: A Light From the Shadows

_Some years later…_

The two wizards moved slowly through the forest, their eyes sliding back and forth as they searched for any signs of movement. There was nothing but the continual drip of rain that slid through the canopy of leaves overhead and the occasional snap of a twig breaking under their feet. And yet the suspect had gone this way, and all the evidence, every tip, had lead them to this damp and dismal forest.

The taller of the two wizards, a blonde with narrow blue eyes and a perpetual scowl, held up a hand. His companion, a dark-haired, green-eyed wizard, came to a stop, a questioning look in his eyes.

The blonde frowned, and then shook his head. "Thought I heard something," he muttered gruffly.

"He's not here," the other one answered. "Should we head back? Maybe Smith and Delacota have had more luck."

The blonde lifted his wand with one hand and scanned the woods directly surrounding them. "No. He _is_ here. Keep pushing forward, Potter. I was to find this scum before he slips through our grasp… again."

The dark-haired man, Potter, shrugged and obliged with the request. He continued walking forward, his whole body tense. His blonde companion hurried along as well, his movements sharper and filled with anticipation.

And then they heard it.

It was small, just the tiniest of noises that anyone else might have missed. The drizzle of rain almost covered the noise, and it was gone as quickly as it had come, fading into a still silence. But they had heard it.

The faint snap of a twig.

They both reacted at exactly the same time. The blonde spun his lanky form in the direction of the sound and waved his wand, a silent spell causing a protective shield to sprung into place, surrounding himself and his companion. The dark-haired wizard also turned, but he jabbed his wand forward and said his spell aloud, casting a stunner towards the noise.

The spell was parried by someone they couldn't see, and rebounded back towards them.

"Travis, duck!"

The blonde instantly crouched on his hands and knees, reacting almost instinctively to his companion's cry of warning. The spell passed harmlessly overhead, but it was followed almost immediately by a burst of flame that illuminated the gray forest in a sudden rush of red and yellow. The fire raced forward, decimating Travis' shield as though it was not even there, and Travis just barely avoided the flames.

The fire, too, passed overhead. But sparks caught the trees, and even the rain could not stop this strange magic. The fire grew, burning the branches, sending smoke billowing into the air.

Another jet of light broke through the gray of the forest, and hit Travis in the chest. He cried out and clutched at his robes before tumbling to his knees. His face went slack, then his eyes closed and he landed face down in the damp earth, unconscious.

The dark-haired wizard rushed to his companion's side, at the same time pointing his wand upwards and sending a flurry of red sparks into the air. That action was followed by the conjuring of another shield that glimmered in the air around them. Once that was accomplished, he grabbed Travis' hand and checked quickly for a pulse. It was there, faint but steady, and indication that he was still alive.

There was a popping noise, and two others appeared out of thin air. One, a woman, instantly dropped to her knees by Travis' side and ran a few diagnostic tests with her wand, her eyes narrowing as worry suffused her expression.

"He's alive, but he needs help. Now," she said sharply, "before the damage to his internal organs spreads."

"Where's the suspect?" the other said, looking over his shoulder into the forest, then lifting his gaze to the flames that licked the branches of the trees above them.

Potter pointed towards the source of the attacks. "That way. I'll go after him. Smith, can you transport Travis back to St. Mungo's?"

The woman nodded, took Travis' hand in her own, and disappeared.

"I'll stay here and take care of the fire. The last thing we need is for it to burn down the forest and then get into the surrounding Muggle villages. They're bound to notice that these flames aren't exactly normal. Potter, send up sparks if you get into trouble. Otherwise I'll join you when I'm done here."

"On it, Delacota," Potter replied, and took off into the woods, in pursuit of the suspect.

It did not take him long to pick up the trail, and as he made his way through the woods, he focused all his energy on finding the fleeing wizard. Although worry for Travis and concern about the spread of the fire lingered in the back of his mind, he couldn't think about those now. Not unless he wanted to lose the suspect, and after all the months of tracking him, failure just wasn't an option.

He felt the charge in the air change, the sign of a spell being cast. The jet of light came from the left, and he just barely ducked to the side. He could make out the silhouette of the other man, half-hidden among the trees. And even as he moved, he was casting another spell, one which his opponent easily parried.

The battle continued, a fast and furious exchange of spells, several of which collided midair and burst into sparks and sputters of electricity. Both opponents were bloodied, Potter had a long gash on one arm and he could see the other man holding his side where a spell had caught him. But the battle didn't even slow, despite Potter's increasingly labored breaths as the pain began to radiated out of his arm and through his chest.

And then…

The spell came unannounced from the right, and struck the silhouetted wizard. Potter gaped in surprise, watching as the man fell to the ground, his eyes closing, his wand sliding from his suddenly limp hand.

There was an eerie silence, then Potter turned and watched as the person who had fired the stunner emerged from the trees. His eyes widened, and in a strangled voice, he managed to gasp out a name, a single word.

"Snape?"

* * *

In the past several years, Harry had given little thought to Snape. It had been hard, at the beginning, not to dwell every day on the haunted memories of the past, but time had passed and the recollections had started to fade. Percy's prediction had come true, the world had forgotten about Snape. Not entirely, of course, but there were other problems to be dealt with, other enemies to battle, other stories to be told.

He had a home now. He had a job that he loved, even – or maybe especially – when it brought danger and risks. He had friends who cheered him up when he was depressed and teased him when he was being too serious, and a family that celebrated every joyous occasion with him.

He had Ginny.

He was content. Content to let the past be in the past, to move forward with his life. Not everyone succeeded at that, he knew, and he was lucky. One of the lucky few who had survived the war, survived Voldemort, and come out stronger on the other end.

So when he found himself gazing at Snape, he was stunned by the lack of hatred, of anger, of resentment. No emotion flared in his chest. No rapid beating of his heart, no uneasy draw of breath. Just the silence, just the complete and utter shock and stumbling across the last person he had expected to see.

"Potter," Snape said, inclining his head. He let his gaze wander towards the man he had stunned. "It would have been better for you to think through your attack instead of rushing blindly after your target. But I suppose you are still too much of a Gryffindor to have thought of that."

Harry smiled slightly. It would have been almost a _disappointment_ had Snape opened the conversation with anything other than an insult.

"Thank you. For… uh… your… you know…" He gestured with one hand towards his unconscious enemy.

"Eloquent as always, Potter," Snape said with a sneer.

"What are you doing in these woods?" Harry asked, ignoring the comment as he waved his wand and watched he ropes burst forth and bind his fallen captive. He glanced at Snape, and saw the potion Master frown.

"My business is my own," Snape answered simply.

Harry nodded. "I suppose," he agreed, and did not push the issue. He didn't really care enough to ask more questions.

He had not expected this. Occasionally, in the dark of the night when there was nothing to distract his mind from unpleasant thoughts, he would think about the past. It was rare, and rarer still that those thoughts would focus on Snape. But they did, every now and then, and somehow he had never really believed it would happen quite like this.

He'd always assumed that if he ever saw Snape again, he would feel something. _Anything_, whether it be good or bad, but not this emptiness, devoid of emotion. He was so unprepared for it, so unused to it, that it took him a moment to realize it wasn't indifference.

It was acceptance.

Ginny had been right. Once he took the time to step back from the issue, to divorce himself from the painful emotions that surrounded it, to see it in a different light and from a different angle, everything seemed to make quite a bit more sense.

"You had better leave," Snape said coolly. "I presume your superiors are waiting for you."

Harry nodded again. "They are." He pointed his wand at the suspect and summoned the body to his side. Placing his hand firmly on the man's chest, he prepared to Apparate away.

But something stopped him.

Before he could stop himself, before he could even figure out why he would want to ask the question, the words had stumbled from his lips, "Are you happy?"

Snape scoffed, "What would you prefer to hear, Potter? That I am ecstatic or that I am miserable?"

Harry hesitated before answering. There was no love lost between the two, and it did not bother him. He had not expected to become friends with Snape, not even after learning the truth about the potions Master's allegiances from Malfoy, not even after the article in which he supposedly proclaimed Snape's innocence, not even after the realization of just how brave the other man could be.

So why did he care about the answer to that question?

He sighed, and said slowly, "I would prefer to hear that… that Voldemort… does not have control over anything anymore, not even a single person's life."

"Bloody foolish Gryffindors," Snape muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "That will never happen. The Dark Lord has left a mark on the world, it will not go away. Do not delude yourself into thinking otherwise." Then he paused and gave Harry a searching look, before adding, "I am content. Is that enough of an answer for you, Potter, or must I give an entire soliloquy before you will leave me in peace?"

Harry smiled slightly, closed his hand over the ropes that bound the unconscious wizard at his feet, and turned on the spot, disappearing with a loud crack.

* * *

Snape found himself still standing in the same place several minutes after Potter had left. The chance meeting left him with a strange sense of bewilderment, as though he could not quite figure out what had happened. But it appeared as though he might have actually had a semi-civil conversation with the infuriating Boy Who Lived.

Finally, after enough time had passed that he realized the light rain would soak him completely if he continued to stand unprotected in the woods, he turned and began to walk back in the direction he had come, back towards the place he called home.

He had left a potion brewing, simmering gently in the cauldron. It still had some time before it could be removed from the flames and bottled. But he was anxious to test it, anxious to see if it had the intended healing properties. He had spent so long perfecting the recipe…

There was nothing quite research to soothe the mind.

He stepped through the last line of trees and crossed the field towards his home. Beyond it, he could see the village of Muggles. With any luck, they would not note his presence. Lately a few of the more nosey women had made unannounced house calls, clearly attempting to draw him out. He had little desire to join in conversation with the annoyingly cheerful members of the village, although he could not deny that he did find their persistence amusing.

That is, when it was not absolutely maddening.

They care enough to continue their attempts and invitations, despite his continual refusals. He supposed their welcoming nature was also slightly endearing. Narcissa did often tell him that he needed to broaden his social circle, although he doubted she meant with Muggles.

He made it unseen to his house and stepped inside, closing the door tightly behind him and crossing to the armchair near the fireplace. Sinking onto the cushions, he glanced briefly at the clock on the wall. Closing his eyes for a moment, he pictures Harry Potter's face, and wondered.

Why didn't he feel hatred when he looked at the boy? Staring at him had always been torture, a constant reminder of James Potter, of everything the popular, handsome, _perfect_ Gryffindor had taken from him. But now… he didn't feel that.

He didn't feel much of anything.

He didn't think about that often. He spoke to her occasionally, knowing she would never again answer him. It didn't matter, not really. If he truly needed an answer for his comments, he would wait until Narcissa or Lucius came to visit. They were his true friends now, not some long-dead ghost from the past.

Maybe that is why he could look into those brilliant green eyes and not flinch. Not be reminded of the past, of his hatred, his resentment, and his hurt. Of the times he had lost her, first to James Potter and then to death. He didn't dwell on Lily as much anymore, and life seemed more bearable because of it.

He still loved her. He always would.

But he had his own life, one that no longer included her.

He opened his eyes and rose to his feet, deciding to check on the potion. He knew it wouldn't be ready yet, but it would still be enjoyable to watch it simmer, to watch the silver vapor form at the surface and rise like a gentle mist or fog towards the ceiling of the house.

He had not been lying when he told Potter that the Dark Lord's mark would remain forever on the rest of the world. He had not created prejudice, he had only used what was already there to build a powerbase. He had cemented those beliefs into a _cause_, something to fight and kill for. And the war had destroyed too many lives for it to ever truly be forgotten. Even generations from now, the Dark Lord's influence would remain.

And yet…

Life went on, and wasn't that a challenging lesson for everyone to learn? But it did go on, and he had finally learned how to go with it, instead of being stuck behind, trapped in the past. He had friends, even if there were only a few of them. He had a home, even if it came with annoying neighbors. And he had his potions.

It was true, what he had told Potter. He was content.

-The End-


End file.
